Idolatry
by Day of the Wolf
Summary: AU. Before the Blight, Hawke and her family, including her father, Malcolm, flee to Tevinter in order to escape punishing Templars. Interacting with magisters and slaves forces Hawke to question the price of freedom. More details inside:
1. Prologue

Idolatry

AU, based on a prompt I read in someone else's story: The Hawke's flee to Tevinter rather than Kirkwall, Hawke kills Denarius and inherits his property, including Fenris who is still a slave. Mine is a little different because Malcolm Hawke is still alive. This story will probably be long, since there is a sub-plot I created in addition to the prompt, and I want to try and delve into the personal changes the character's go though deeply.

Cameo appearances and smex will ensue, but again, there is a plot! Hope you enjoy!

Rated **M** for language, violence, adult content, dark themes.

Prologue

_'Clang!' _Steel rang sharply against steel.

A rumble of flames silenced the cries of warriors.

"Run!" a mother's voice, desperate.

Footsteps, scattering and thundering. Fevered and worried panting, strained in the cold night air.

"STOP Apostate, in the name of Andraste! The Order dictates!"

The thin scream of an arrow breezed sharply overhead, a feminine yelp of pain and the sound of staggering brought the pursued to a stop.

"BETHANY!"

A cloak woman turned, ferocious blue eyes marked the men who would soon find their graves. She raised her hands up like an offering, hair standing on end like a midnight halo.

"No, Hawke! She'll be alright, keep running! Stay your hand..." the warning was swallowed as the wind sizzled. Knives of electric light flashed and rippled, spearing the pursuers, cooking them in their armor.

'_Thump, thump, thud,'_ they fell.

'_Thump, thump, thud,' _they died.

Gasping and crying replaced the stillness the tempest had brought.

"Maker, no..." Her mother fell to her knees, a dozen corpses lying in her wake. "How could you do this to us?" Whether she beseeched the Maker or her daughter, Hawke was unsure.

Deep ragged breaths dragged themselves from her lungs, tears streaked her cheeks, but she was not sorry, never sorry for the death of men who attacked her family. She was sorry for the death of men who knew no better, sorry for proving to the Templars, the dangers of unCircled mages.

Galloping hooves marched closer and Hawke turned, staff raised.

"No more, please," her mother sniffled, sick with the stench of death.

"Leandra?"

"Malcolm!" The woman turned and ran for him as he jumped from the raincloud steed.

"What happened?" he asked gently, as though the words would break her.

"Templars...saw her face...she went hunting in the woods with Carver, bandits attacked. Some nearby Templars came to help." Leandra sighed and calmed herself, looking into her husbands eyes. "They saw her face and they _knew_..." All eyes fell to Hawke, Carver helping Bethany closer to the group.

"How did they know me, father? I thought you-"

"I rescued you from them, but I couldn't just kill them-"

"BULLSHIT!" Hawke and Carver yelled together. Bethany flinched, blue light flooding her features as she healed herself.

"We can't stay here," Carver said, not the least bit remorseful over the twelve dead men. "We have to move again."

"Where will we go? Fereldon seems to be losing its tender hand toward the mages." Bethany was mournful.

"We can go to Kirkwall, my family has an estate there." Leandra wanted something familiar and solid. Carver shook his head.

"That place is crawling with Templars! We need someplace quiet for father and the girls!" Carver shouldn't have been so harsh, but he detested his mother's weakness and pity. She wanted so badly to live a lush and simple life, with birthdays and tea socials and Chantry banquets on the holidays. A romantic life where the woman who sacrificed everything for love was in turn rewarded with loving abundance.

Life was not fair, and she hadn't caught on.

They should've never stayed in Lothering. A town this small with a Chantry was a terrible idea when three of the five members of your family were mages. But she had never lived on a farmstead before, wanted to till the land and break a sweat. Imbecilic dreams of a lost childhood...

"I have...made arrangements in case of an emergency like this," Malcolm spoke, red hair bright even in the darkness. "I had hoped it would never come to this but...well, at least we made it seventeen years here." His voice was wistful and resigned, as if he knew it would've never lasted and he missed the years anyway.

"Where?" Leandra's voice a whisper.

"Tevinter," he exhaled. The collective silence was smothering, full of dread and confusion.

"What?" Leandra finally questioned, astonished and ready to fight the points before they were made.

"The Tevinter Imperium. My cousin is a magister and I have...friends that work in the overseas slave market and-"

"No."

"Hawke, I don't think that-"

"_No_!" Hawke sheathed her staff and turned away from them. "I will...hand myself over to the Chantry tomorrow and-"

"What?" gasped the family.

"AND you can go on living safely somewhere else! Amaranthine, Starkhaven, Orlais, anywhere but Tevinter." She spat the last word, already walking back toward the farming village. Her father's hand on her shoulder stopped her. "This is my fault." Hawke hanged her head. Guilty, not for the first time, over being a mage. "I need to be responsible, take care of my family." Her lip quivered but she remained tense.

"No, sister!" cried Bethany. "If it's not you, it's one of us." She pointed to her father and herself. "No matter what happens, we need to stay together!"

"Listen to your sister!" Leandra added. Carver held his tongue. He didn't blame Hawke, but he agreed with her, would've done the same thing in her place.

"I don't want to lose you, little one. Life will be different, hard. But we will be free to be mages. And maybe after a time, we can return here, once tensions have eased. It's bound to happen," Malcolm cooed, wrapping his eldest in a strong hug. Hawke sobbed once and returned the gesture. "Bethany, Leandra, gather our things, Carver, ready the horses and carts. You and I," he smiled sadly at Hawke "We'll...take care of the bodies."

The boat creaked, a loud bellow of grump as it swayed side to side. They had been mercifully spared storms, but consequently the winds had been light. Fifteen days out to sea and many were ill or restless.

Hawke was quiet, brooding meditatively. On their journey to the docks, her father had told them what their lives were to be like from now on, the dangers and pleasures of who they would be. Not as many personal restrictions as living in Fereldon, but certainly more obligations and social protocols to live by if they wanted to be convincing.

It was one cage for another, in Hawke's opinion.

As the journey commenced, the coil in Hawke's stomach tightened and twisted. Her freedom to practice magic openly would have to supersede the fact that her father would be, "lord and master" of the family.

It's not living, it's survival. Hawke sighed. It wouldn't be forever. And maybe, _maybe_, some good would come out of living in a place where mages held power. She clenched her teeth with the lie.

She felt eyes on her and looked away from the sea and over her shoulder. An elf, about her age, watched her peacefully. Sandy-blond hair fluttering softly and glittering emerald eyes full of yearning.

She had seen him before, had smiled at him, conversed with him lightly on few occasions while they had both opted to eat dinner away from the others. Her red lips parted in greeting but she blushed and smiled shyly. She wondered if he was to become a slave and her heart dropped. What could be done? She glanced over to him again, his head was tilted, pondering. Hawke pondered too. Her father was talking with several merchants, mother was politely chatting with a group of cleric scholars from Denerim, Carver was laughing with several of the captain's men, and Bethany was playing with several children as their tired mother's watched, happy for the distraction.

Hawke bit her lip; it may be the last chance for her to make a choice of her own for a very long time. She walked toward him, doing her best to look covertly smoldering as she did. He perked up, surprised but willing. She traced her fingers up the side of his arm gently before whispering,

"Take me to your room." He stood and walked ahead of her, fingers holding hers.

She wanted this, but couldn't help but feel nervous, as she'd only done this twice before.

She was fifteen, he seventeen, the older brother of one of Carver's friends.

And training to be a Templar.

He had been clumsy, and she had had no idea how to please him, content with running her hands all over his sculpted body that first night while he kissed her everywhere.

It had hurt, but didn't last long.

The next and last time, he already had his armor and was being sent to guard mages in the Circle.

"I know you're an apostate," he said sadly as he looked at her. She stood rigidly, full of fear.

"Are you going to-"

"No. I...want you to be free." He moved closer then, kissed her tenderly. He pulled his armor off and explored her body fully and hungrily, knowing this would be the last time for him. She could hardly believe what was happening when she had an orgasm, her first, and magic hummed throughout her body, reacting to his lyrium. "Maker!" he cried, but not in anger.

She did her best to reciprocate, using her mouth and tongue on him sloppily, but he moaned all the same. When he entered her, it felt _good_, and she came again in just a few thrusts. He tried to make it last, she could tell, but as he moved quickly a few more paces, he climaxed, holding her gaze the whole time.

They had fallen asleep together, woken at dawn where he told her good-bye, thanked her sweetly for making him a man.

Hawke returned to the present. It had only been two years, but she had learned a lot more about men since her time in Lothering; shopping with gossiping and bored farmers wives. She was also nervous because he was an elf; attractive and slim, different.

His room was small, a bed, a nightstand, a chair, and a porthole. It was enough. She unbuttoned her cloak and he stopped her hands.

"May I undress you?" he asked, voice deep. She nodded and held her hands out to her sides. He was careful, folding her clothes and placing them on the chair neatly. She wondered if this was his first time with a human...or with anyone for that matter. He looked over her body, pupils dilated, and cupped her sizable breasts, kissed her neck wetly.

Her breath caught and she pulled on his vest.

"May I undress you?" she asked, panting. He nodded slowly, stepping back. He was wearing much less, a vest and loose trousers, she laid them on the chair quickly. His slender body was defined nicely, though he seemed a bit frail. He was so smooth under her fingers. He kissed her hard, pressing her against the door, sliding a finger into her heat. She whimpered in pleasant shock.

He worked his hand against her as they kissed, tongues darting out every few breaths. She moaned loudly as she came and, wasting no time, he moved them toward the bed. She sat as he stood above her and she boldly licked his neck from the hollow to his ear, which she traced with her finger. He groaned desperately and she tried to lay back but he held her wrists.

"Please, you be on top?" He held his eyes shut as she held his hips.

"I've never...I'll try," she answered. He laid down and she hovered over him, feeling exposed as the cool air tickled her skin. He put her hands on his chest and she didn't breathe as she lowered herself onto him. "Mmm!" She remained still for a few seconds, him panting softly beneath her. She moved her hips to the left, trying to adjust herself, and that movement made them both groan. She rolled her hips sideways again, than front and back, and circular. Over and over. As a sheen of sweat broke out on their skin, she tentatively moved herself up and down, moving faster when he called out her name.

She watched him, he watched her, their faces red and lids heavy. She held his hands and moved forward, he propping her up.

She almost cried.

They sought their last comforts, last freedoms in each other's arms. His life would undoubtedly be worse than hers, and this, _she_ was the last thing he wanted to remember.

"Oh, Kal..." She came again, seconds later, he released himself into her.

She laid on him fully and he absently stroked her hair, she kissed his jaw.

"Thank-you, serah," he said softly. She smiled at the coincidence.

"For what? That certainly wasn't your first time." He chuckled.

"No, but...if I am purchased by a human master, I want to remember your face, your smell, your touch, Hawke." He kissed her forehead. She shivered, it was a bittersweet sentiment. "This way I'll always know that not all humans are bad." A few seconds passed, respecting the moment between them, before Hawke replied,

"It's also nice to know that elves can be this _good_." He actually seemed charmingly embarrassed. They stayed that way for a long time, pretending. Pretending that they were lovers on a romantic voyage, that their destination was someplace pleasant and warm, as the ship drifted lazily toward their new lives.


	2. The Edge

Chapter One-

The edge.

*Non-Dragon Age religious reference for artistic license. :)

* * *

Hawke was well known in the Red Tent District, went there at least three nights a week, sometimes more. During the day she would practice spells with Bethany, arms with Carver, etiquette with mother, general knowledge and skills like music and art with her tutor, Flynn, and advanced magic and defense with father. Almost every evening for dinner, they had guests, or more often than not, attended someone else's formal dinner.

Late at night, however, Hawke was left on her own. Since she was getting older as well, most of her lessons would soon stop too.

Keeping busy meant keeping out of trouble, at least it was _supposed_ to.

Carver and Bethany had adjusted quite well, they had friends and were happy, mother transitioned to knowledgeable socialite very easily, and father was a magister. Low-ranking, but respected, on his way up.

Hawke brushed passed the first set of canopies, an old, Rivaini woman was casting bones, trying to get Hawke to listen to the visions she saw there. Hawke went to a large tent in the northeast end, it was right next to her favorite bar, The Nimble Virgin.

She stepped into the tent briskly, dark purple cloak swirling around her feet. Her slightly curled black hair fell passed her shoulders, and she rarely covered it up or styled it, much to her mother's chagrin. She wore the clothes of a middle-class Orlaisian noble...a _male_ middle-class Orlaisian noble.

It did nothing to hide her beauty though; her porcelain skin, rosy cheeks, red lips and piercing blue eyes coupled with her high-cheekbones caused most to give at the least a second glance, even with the markings on the right side of her face.

"Please, messere, have a look around! It'll be ten silver for a tumble, fifty for the night, and one sovereign for me to look the other way." He grinned, missing teeth and disgusting disposition.

"Let me look around," Hawke said, dropping ten silver into his hands. He bowed and she went into the center of the tent.

These people here were unsold slaves waiting for market, using them as prostitutes helped the slavers make extra money. Each red tent was large, with sheets and blankets creating barriers, bedrooms. Most people had the magical skill to sound-proof their "affections", but some did not, and the moaning of men and creaking of old cots became as familiar to Hawke as the typical chatter of a market day.

The slaves sat together in the middle of the "lounge" and waited to be picked, guards stood by bored, sometimes spitting on the slaves. Hawke took a deep breath, ignoring the scent of sour dirt and sex, scanning the crowd. Most were elves, but there were humans and even a few dwarves. Hawke had played this game before.

She looked into their eyes, and always picked the ones who stared defiantly into her face, or the ones who kept their gazes to the ground. Anyone who caught her gaze, but looked away, had enough spirit to survive for a while, too ready to please.

An elven woman with orange hair and silver eyes held her gaze, even raised her chin sternly. Hawke smiled.

"This one," she said, pointing. A guard leered at Hawke and grabbed the elf, tossing her into an empty alcove. Hawke followed and closed the curtain, using a bubble of force magic to keep the sound from escaping. "What's your name?" Hawke asked while removing her cloak and unbuttoning her mauve vest. The woman sniffed.

"Ethenia," she practically spat, standing in a loose fighting stance.

"I'm Hawke, it's a pleasure to meet you, Ethenia." Hawke undid the cuffs on her shirt and opened her belt. Ethenia inhaled sharply. "I have a proposition to make."

"What? That if I'm a good little girl and do as you tell me, you won't hurt me as much? Spare me, Tevinter snake!" There were tears in her eyes.

"Actually, I'm a Fereldon dog, came here from Lothering, but that's beside the point." Ethenia scoffed in surprise at Hawke's candor. "I work for the Underground Steamcoach, ever heard of us?" Ethenia visibly relaxed. Hawke smirked. "Good. My proposition is two-fold, offer and request. Are you with me?" Hawke was slow and gentle, letting her words sink in, letting Ethenia make judgments.

"I'm with you," she said softly before sitting on the crumpled bed, Hawke knelt where she was standing so they were eye-to-eye but with plenty of breathing room.

"I have papers, contacts, and coin to help get you out of here, no problem. You could leave whenever you wanted and never look back, this I will do depending on how you answer my next question."

"What's your question?" There was a slight edge to her voice. Hawke took a steadying breath.

"Would you prefer to be a buddha,* ascending and escaping to nirvana, or a bodhisattva,* knowing the path, but staying behind to help others find their paradise?" The woman gulped several times, blinking rapidly, crying, not daring to believe.

"Are you...how can I trust you?" Hawke pulled out a tattered coin-purse and tossed it into her lap.

"That's thirty-six silver and ten bits. One silver and ten are to pay your ferryman, not anything more. The thirty-five is for you, when you land on your new shore." She placed a hand on her vest. "Here are the papers to guide you, or another if you choose to stay behind, in which case I will add you to my list of contacts so money and instructions can be given to those you want to help. Understand?" Hawke was sympathetic, but not placating. This was a strong woman she was dealing with here, thank the Maker.

Long minutes passed, Ethenia stared at the purse in her lap, jaw trembling. Hawke stood and stretched her legs, putting her cloak back on.

"I'll do it," she whispered.

"Pardon?"

"I'll stay behind. For them." She nodded toward the curtain indicating the group of slaves beyond it. Hawke smiled, knowing the sacrifice she was making.

"I'll add you to my list, here are some basic instructions you need to memorize so you'll recognize us." Hawke took the pouch back. "When you've been placed in a home, you'll be contacted and given provisions, but before your sale this-" she tinkled the bag "will only catch the guards eyes." Ethenia looked over the simple instructions carefully, said them to herself several times, before handing the paper back to Hawke. She buttoned her vest. "I hope it was as good for you as it was for me."

Hawke visited three more tents that night, managing to convince two down-trodden slaves to flee. She had payed the guards their sovereigns and had taken the slaves into an alley, where her first contact waited. They would have to travel part of the way to the underground on their own, Hawke's contact providing decent clothes for the now free people.

It had been a good night. Not the best, but it could've been worse.

Hawke was now nursing and ale at The Nimble Virgin, drained but alert as she tried to ease her mind.

"Oi, serah Hawke! Fancy seeing you here! Can I get you a drink?" Hawke looked to the drunken man, it was Morris Bathory, the son of a powerful magister who had noble relatives across Thedas.

"Sure," she said, shrugging. Morris was a dope, but he wasn't cruel. He was even a bit handsome, soft from his sedentary life, but not unattractive, not that it mattered.

"You're family is doing well for themselves, serah, considering you've only been in Tevinter for..."

"Five years."

"Five years..." he repeated dimly. "You're beautiful, Marian." Hawke bristled. No one was allowed to call her Marian but her family, and even then it was usually when she was being scolded or when her siblings were teasing her, though they were getting old for that.

"Please, call me Hawke, Morris. It's more...friendly." He nodded enthusiastically and ordered Antivan brandy for the pair of them. "So, what brings you to the Virgin, Morris? Liquor, barmaids, a quick game of diamondback?"

"No, I was scouting the tents, getting a heads-up on slaves for the auction tomorrow. My dad's letting me buy them, and I wanted to pick tonight and not waste time tomorrow," he said, proudly. Hawke's face lit up.

"Well, what sort of slaves do you need?" He screwed up his face in concentration.

"Um, a cook, someone to tend the horses, and someone to chop wood and help tend the fires on the third floor." Hawke smiled brightly. She knew how to play this game. She put her hand on his forearm.

"It just so happens that I...frequent the slaver tents and can help you make a good decision," she practically purred. His face went slack as his cheeks flushed, he stared at her hand. "Do you want me to help you, Morris?"

"Yes please..." he gulped and leaned down to place a kiss on her hand, but she pulled it away to write some names on a spare piece of parchment she had.

"Here you are, Morris. Ara, she's an excellent chef, once worked in Orlais, and Grant, he's the perfect man for the wood and fire duties and Lesaya absolutely loves animals. I wrote little descriptions of their personages next to their names and talents so you'll be sure to find them!" She tucked the note in his pocket and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you around." He stared after her dumbfounded, more than happy to do whatever she wanted.

* * *

The crack of leather against leather was a warning; if you don't comply, this could be you! He could hear it in his sleep, or whenever a small mistake was made, by him or another slave. It was the first sound he heard in the morning.

'CRACK!'

There were worse ways of being roused from sleep.

'CRACK!'

He whimpered with exhaustion, the pain tapering off to a cold tingling.

'CRACK!'

He was sweating, the sweat stung him, he kept his eyes shut.

'CRACK!'

Sometimes just a reminder, but always a punishment.

'CRACK!'

He shouldn't have hesitated, he knew that, why did he keep forgetting?

'CRACK!'

His life was better when he followed orders...

'CRACK!'

...wasn't it?

'CRACK!'

Almost done, he had counted thirty-seven strikes, forty would kill him.

'CRACK!'

It would stop at thirty-nine, surely he hadn't been that disobedient.

'CRACK!'

"I'm...sorry," he croaked immediately, not wanting to test his master for forty. He was shivering and bleary-eyed, throbbing everywhere there was skin.

Footsteps echoed across the stone floor and the man stood before the bleeding slave.

"You could be such a good boy, little wolf. Why do you test me so? I try to be merciful." The man leaned down and gripped the slaves face by his chin. "I'm starting to think you _enjoy_ being punished, my pet. If that's the case, I suppose I can indulge you!" A ripple flooded between them and the bleeding man contorted in pain, skin glowing an intense white-blue. "This way I don't even have to to soil myself by touching you." His voice was almost giddy as he stood to watch his slave writhing. After only a few seconds, he broke, wailing and screaming deliriously, knowing nothing outside this torment and begging for the pain to stop.

And just when he began to pray for death, his master released him from the spell.

* * *

_Blood. Sweet, powerful...blood!_

_Blood is the answer, it's always the answer!_

_ We shed blood to win wars,_

_Andraste shed blood to redeem humanity._

_ True magical power...it's all in the blood!_

_But it's not only man who bleeds, and not just the beasts he feeds on._

_ There is blood in the Fade, there is blood in the Earth._

_The Earth is bleeding, stem the flow and you will be a god..._

"Ugh..." _'Why am I sweating? Why am I so cold?'_

"Mmm..." _'A nightmare? That damn book father bought from that Rivaini merchant!'_

"Oh!" _'I'll burn it tonight.'_

"Good morning, sister!" Wet and warm lips pressed into Hawke's chin.

"B-Bethany? Am I still dreaming?"

"Happy birthday! I bought you a gown!" Bethany was pinning Hawke to the bed, smiling mischievously.

"What?"

"You're twenty-two today, big sister! And I wanted us to go to Catalia's ball tonight! All sorts of men will be there!" She wriggled giddily on Hawke over the blankets, Hawke simply groaned.

"You already have nine suitors, Bethany. How could you possibly want more?" Bethany had become quite beautiful as she'd grown into a woman. Her lips were thinner than Hawkes, but very shapely, she had a button nose and deep hazel eyes with long lashes, accented perfectly by short and feathery black hair. Her breasts were slightly larger than Hawke's and her figure less muscular. She was delicate, dainty, and...sensuous. Her eyes promised men things they were too afraid to ask for, they responded to her quickly.

Hawke preferred intimidation, less make-up.

"Ha! They're not for me, they're for you!" She kissed Hawke's nose and rolled away, standing at the bedside. "Please go with me. If I bring Carver he'll just complain and eat everything, get piss drunk and flirt pathetically with a married woman. I won't have any fun without you!"

"I thought this was _my_ birthday, and I could do what _I_ wanted?" sighed Hawke.

"You want to make me happy don't you?" she asked innocently. Hawke grumbled.

"Yes...alright I'll go. But no dresses! I have a formal suit I can wear." Bethany was about to pout, but thought it was best not to push her luck.

"Thank-you!" She flounced out of the room, telling herself all the things she still needed to do.

Hawke felt oppressive dread for just a moment, it crawled through her body, making her limbs leaden. She choked, panic to the point of blindness flashing through her mind, tightening her skin, battering her brain. She trembled.

_'I can't do this anymore! I can't! Ignoring the weak and helpless. Doing these silly dances! Jumping through every hoop! Laughing with them, dining with them. Lying to the everyone...to myself! I don't know who I am anymore, but I can't possibly be like them! Right?_

_Do they know that I watch them, that I trick them? Are they allowing me to do as I please until they can catch and punish me?'_

Her heart thundered painfully, pushing the the blood through her veins as surely as the tears from her eyes. It was too much...it was filthy.

She took a sharp breath and relaxed, feeling as if her bones were melting ice that left nothing but a soothing numbness behind.

It was like this nearly every morning now, and she allowed it, maybe even embraced it morbidly. It was the only time she felt something real, that was genuinely hers, an echo from the life she'd left behind. Not that she was so effervescent then, but she had been real, they all had.

Everyone in Tevinter was so comfortable with being fake, ruthless, and cruel. Hawke just...she'd rather be in the Circle. Fereldon's Circle at least. It was...too easy to stop caring about people and only focus on oneself.

So when those urges started to take hold of her, Hawke killed certain parts of herself, discovered the Underground, never told her family.

They wouldn't understand.

They had fled to Tevinter to be safe, and what Hawke was doing was dangerous, reckless, and extremely necessary. But she sometimes wondered if she was doing it more for herself than the slaves she freed, as if to remind herself that she wasn't a magister, wasn't a blood-mage, wasn't...dead inside.

She bathed and dressed quickly and went into the den to eat breakfast. Her mother and Carver were there, munching on toasted bread and fish omelets. Hawke poured herself some tea and sat down peacefully.

"What were you up to last night, Hawke?" her mother asked, a hint of accusation in her voice. Hawke sighed around the mouthful of food and swallowed.

"Just having myself an early birthday celebration, and I think I'd like a pony this year." Leandra scowled.

"Happy birthday Hawke. Are you planning on "celebrating" some more tonight?"

"Bethany wants me to go to a party with her, so no," Hawke said with minor irritation.

"I heard you were at The Nimble Virgin last night, sis. Heard it from Morris Bathory this morning at the auction," Caver sneered. He was enjoying this, wanted to see her squirm, but didn't really want to get her into trouble. Hawke continued eating, brows raised in feigned interest.

"Well, is it true, Hawke? Were in the...Red District?" She sounded faint with the question. Hawke took a sip of tea.

"And what if I was? A lot of high-born spend time there, it's perfectly _acceptable_." Hawke smiled sunnily and finished her breakfast. Better they think her a promiscuous drunkard than someone who was choosing to sabotage their safety.

"Just because it's "acceptable" doesn't mean it's the right thing to do, Hawke!" Leandra scolded. Hawke gave her mother a pointed stare.

"Those have been my exact thoughts since we got to Tevinter."

There was a pregnant silence, Carver seemed chastised by the comment, but Leandra was silently fuming.

"Think about your reputation," she finally pleaded. Hawke wiped her mouth and stood.

"I'd rather think about my conscience, mother." And with that, Hawke swept out of the room, leaving hurt eyes and gaping mouths in her wake.

* * *

There were flies in the gruel, and he ate them without pause, anything to fill his belly.

"Sorry dog, I dropped it on the floor on the way up here, but I knew that wouldn't matter to a beast like you."

"Thank-you for the meal, mistress." He meant it. His first few mouthfuls of food in three days were appreciated. She snorted.

"Filthy swine!" She slapped the man as hard as she could, his cutlery tumbled to the floor. "Yuck! Apologize for making me touch you!"

"I am sorry, mistress. For making you touch me." They were both quiet for a moment, he started to doze off. She dumped cold water over his head. He gasped in shock, shaking.

"You stink, mongrel! It's offensive to a lady."

"F-forgive me." She dumped more water on him, splashing it harshly against his face.

"You look a bit sunken as well, best have a drink!" He fell forward on his hands and knees, greedily slurping the water from the cracks in the stone floor. "Disgusting...you really are an animal! Even have pointed ears like one!" He continued to drink the dusty liquid, noticing her heel-covered foot peeking out from under her robe. He reached for her ankle and tried to place a kiss on the gems adorning her shoe. She kicked him swiftly in the ribs with her other foot. "What are you doing, fiend?"

"S-s-serving you the way you prefer, mistress," he grunted, confused. She stooped over him, pulling his hair roughly to tilt his head back.

"Did I give you permission, to serve me, vermin?" she whispered maniacally.

"Forgive me..." He didn't know what else to say or do.

"ANSWER ME! Did I give you _permission_ to serve me?"

"No, m-mistress." He kept his eyes downcast.

"You don't deserve to attend to a beautiful woman like me, and yet you _decided_ that you should."

"I'm sorry..."

"I cannot forgive an outrage such as this," she said as she let go of his hair. He dropped to the floor. "You must be punished for your liberties, dog. You must be house-trained if you want to be worthy sleeping in your master's bed!" With a flip of her hand, he was flat on his back, clothes shredded. She struck him blind and pinned him down with magic. He started to panic when he felt a crawling sensation on his skin. "Oh you poor thing!" She said in exaggerated mock concern. "You seem to have a terrible case of fleas!"

* * *

Tonight was not a good night.

Not only had Hawke missed an opportunity to go to the red tents, she was so incensed and insulted she might leave Tevinter for Kirkwall this very night!

The party had been a disaster. Bethany had left her side almost immediately to dance with a baron, forcing Hawke to make conversation with many a spoiled high-born. One topic of conversation that almost broke out into a fistfight was concerning medical care.

All Hawke had said was that the Chantry should provide low-cost and free medical services to non-mages, regardless of status, and that healers should charge their patients on a curve, so that everyone would be able to afford living in health.

Lord and Lady sonofabitch didn't seem to agree.

"And how would the Chantry be able to provide such care?" asked the lord.

"Well, if the nobles and magisters paid a slightly higher tithe then-"

"_Us_ paying a higher tithe simply because we have been blessed with fortune? How very _un_-egalitarian , serah!" cried the lady, fanning herself. Hawke pursed her lips.

"But the benefits of having a community virtually free of disease or injury would be worth so much more than a few extra silver a week! Think about it, no sick days means more work days. In the end, you'd make more money than you'd lose with the new tithe."

"Well, we might as well make all food, clothes, and shelter free as well so no one would ever have to lift a finger again!" chuckled the lord.

"I say. If they can't work hard enough to take care of themselves, why should we have to bare the burden? We _earned_ our wealth." stated the lady in a huff. Hawke practically snarled.

"I didn't realize that arranged marriages and being handed an inheritance was such laborious work, do forgive me." And that had been the best moment of the party.

Politely turning away drunken suitors for hours, getting sick from the pate, and watching a slave get slapped because she engaged him in conversation helped cultivate a memorable for all the wrong reasons birthday.

It was when the dancers came out that Hawke had really lost her temper.

Twenty slaves, all under the age of sixteen, began prancing about the halls, trying to tantalize the guests. Hawke fumed. The boys and girls were wearing nothing but translucent drapes of cloth over their thin bodies and, despite the theatrical make-up, Hawke could clearly see bruises and cuff-marks on their arms and necks.

_This_ was what she had escaped for? This was what _freedom_ meant?

Hawke had bellowed at the top of her lungs and flipped a desert table over, setting the other tables on a controlled fire. Some people were scared, most seemed amused. I suppose this sort of thing was meant to happen at parties.

"Don't mind her, she's had a lot to drink! You know my sister," Bethany said, trying to cover for the outburst. A few people murmured in assent and even giggled at the thought as the flames died out. Hawke knew Bethany was just trying to protect her but...the way she smirked as she clutched her suitors arm, the ease with which she could lie and play these games...she was just like one of them.

That might have been the worst part of the whole affair.

So Hawke had stormed out, tired and angry and..._jealous_ that she couldn't just relax and submit to this life like the rest of them had!

She felt so lost, as if her fading away made her more exposed to those around her. Soon they would see through her, and Maker help her family when she was caught.

Hawke turned a corner and realized that now she was physically lost. She sniffled and looked up to the sky, hoping the stars could help guide her.

"Well well, what's this? A pretty little fop with nowhere to go?" Hawke faced the voice. Two men in ragged armor smirked in surprise. In the dark and from behind, they had thought Hawke was a man, as the moonlight hit her face, however, their shock turned to lurid glee at discovering her femaleness.

"Tisk, tisk, milady! Out after nightfall without an escort...something bad might happen to ya!" He pulled a staff out from behind his back and the other man pulled out a shield and short-sword. Hawke had left her own staff at home, but still had few throwing knives on her, not to mention the fact that she was an angry mage.

Poor bastards.

The man with the sword lunged at her, but she quickly spun to her left and landed a hard kick between his shoulder blades, sending him flailing. The mage stepped forward aggressively and raised his staff, but Hawke quickly activated her arcane shield, it absorbed the blow of the staff like a sponge and the mage sputtered,

"This bitch can use magic!" He reared back and Hawke felt with a tingle that he was preparing an ice spell.

Hawke took care of that problem with a quick dispel magic. His arms dropped in horror.

"My man-" She swiftly punched him on the stomach and then across the jaw and he tumbled to the ground. Hawke turned just in time to see the other man raise his shield and bash her against the wall. She slid to the ground, barely able to take a breath, chest and back sore and throbbing. He raised his sword.

Her hands weakly pulled out the knives in her boots.

As his weapon came down, she caught it with the small blades. He grunted and pushed down harder, but she managed to kick him in the stomach and push him away. She stood quickly just as the de-powered mage charged at her.

Hawke swung her left arm out in an arch, deftly slitting his throat. Blood spattered across her face and chest. As he gagged, Hawke hit him in the chest with a small fireball, setting his robes up in flames as he fell over dead. She turned to face the other assailant as he struggled to get to his feet.

"Tonight...just isn't a good night for you." She smirked as she captured him in an arcane prison. He convulsed as it tightened around his frame. With one final pulse of light, his body burst, sending gore over Hawke's legs and boots.

She tried to ignore how good it felt to kill these louts, instead focusing guilty on her lack of remorse. She searched their bodies for any identification and liberated them of their coin-purses. She'd put it to good use.

Tension eased and hands glowing with a healing spell, Hawke staggered toward the place where she lived. After all these years, she still couldn't bring herself to call it home.

* * *

Would love your thoughts! It get much more interesting after this, I swear! I just want you to get a fell for the world they live in and the personalities the characters have. xoxo


	3. The Fall

Idolatry

Chapter 2-The Fall

Rated **M** [Warning, contains rape.]

* * *

He was cold. Even as the sun rose and a few flickers of light danced across his face, he was numb with the chill. The chains rattled as he moved to cover himself, he didn't open his eyes.

The cell door creaked and warm air puffed in to push away the staleness.

"I know you're awake, little wolf..." The voice was slow, the words deliberate, added with the faint smell, he knew his master was drunk. _Very_ drunk, must not have slept all night.

He didn't open his eyes.

Feet shuffled across stone, metal tinkled against metal as the cuffs and chains were unlocked.

"Follow me." He left the room, followed by the slave. They walked in silence to a sparse study. The fire still crackled brightly, making the room stifling. The man sat heavily in a large armchair and poured himself a chalice of amber liquid. "Sit at my feet." The slave complied, even curling around his master's legs slightly. The man sighed, taking a gulp of his drink. "Massage them."

The slave pulled off the boots and rubbed the man's feet slowly, working on each foot for several minutes. He hummed in approval and rested his hand on his thigh beside his growing erection. "Touch me." The slave automatically slid his hands under the man's robes and began softly stroking and tugging the hard length he found there. The man moaned softly and took another deep swig from his cup. "Such a good pet, humble and obedient. Isn't this better than before, when you forced me to break you? This is how life is meant to be, master and slave. This is the harmony that comes from submitting to ones station in life. Don't you agree?"

The slave nodded, looking ahead absently.

"You may speak."

"Yes, master."

"Look at me, Fenris." Fenris lifted his mossy eyes to the man before him, but didn't allow his gaze higher than the man's nose. "You enjoy the quiet, yes? Or do you prefer the whip?"

"I enjoy the quiet, master." The man sneered. "Unless you need to use the whip." He smiled.

"Good boy." He lifted his robes over his knees and bunched them around his hips. "Fellate me." Fenris wordlessly leaned forward and wrapped his mouth around the stiff appendage, bobbing his head up and down slowly.

"You like this, don't you, Fenris? You enjoy worshipping your master's cock." The man hissed through his teeth and gripped the sides of Fenris' head, pulling his hair and pushing himself deeper down the slaves throat. "Take it all, you little _slut_! Choke on it!" Fenris coughed and spluttered, using his hands to try and brace away from the man, to free himself long enough to breathe. All of the twisting and squirming caused the man to suddenly ejaculate, he grunted loudly as his premature orgasm wracked through him. "Don't you _dare_ swallow! You little bitch, are not worthy of my essence!" He threw Fenris back, who coughed raggedly, and stood, leaning over his trembling slave. "So, you think to make me look a _fool_, Fenris? Trying to make me _lust_ for you? You're just a tool, not a man, not a powerful man like _me_! I'll show you, you _filthy_ whore, that NO ONE makes a fool out of Denarius Maximus!" The man whorled around toward the fireplace, Fenris gasping for air and crawling for the door.

"Master, I-"

"SHUT UP, FENRIS! You have spoken enough!" Denarius slurred, his rage doing nothing to aid his drunkenness, and picked up a fire poker. With a mad gleam in his eye, he rushed back to Fenris.

"_Please_, master...no!" Denarius clenched his fist, magic surging through him, sending searing pain under Fenris' skin. He cried out loudly as his body convulsed wildly against the assault.

"I try to be tender, I try to be merciful, I try to _educate_ you, and you still rebel and mean to humiliate me!" Denarius fell to his knees and pinned Fenris down with an arm to his throat, using his knee to spread the slaves legs apart.

"I _didn't_-"

"Well now I understand you, Fenris," cackled Denarius as his spit on the pokers handle until it gleamed in the firelight. "You _prefer_ the whip, and as the kind and generous lord I am, I shall oblige, as pain is the only thing you seem to understand!" With one final yelp of protest from the slave, Denarius sank the handle deeply into Fenris' rectum. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound escaped, his face frozen in agony like the painting of a suffering martyr, a single tear dripping onto the carpet.

* * *

She was warm. The fragrant bath was soothing after her night at the party, her brawl in the alley. She used her magic to keep the water steaming, Hawke could fall asleep here. It was the only place she felt safe, could let her guard down and be vulnerable. It was the only place in Tevinter where she was ever left alone.

Her servant, Moira, would come in quietly and leave towels, clothes, and snacks while Hawke drew the bath, and then would leave her be, fixing her bed and then retiring for the night. Hawke inhaled until her lungs ached; the scent of roses, bergamot, and Andraste's Grace weaving a delicate mesh of calm inside of her, drowning the doubt, paranoia, anger, pity, and hopelessness that were her constant companions. It was bliss, and she would allow herself to deserve it, saving her guilt for her dreams.

After nearly two hours, Hawke wrenched herself from the enveloping heat and headed to her bedchamber, doing her best in her tired state to pretend that life was good, free of emotional bondage and danger.

As she collapsed on her bed, damp and wearing nothing but a housecoat, Hawke felt the familiar tingle of dread as it whispered up her spine. Her body gratefully beat the race to sleep before the worry could take hold.

But her dreams were less forgiving.

In her youth, her dreams were always of running. Running away from templars or after them in order to save her family. Sometimes she'd have dreams of being left behind as her family fled, forcing her to chase them and question whether or not they had forgotten her on purpose.

She didn't run anymore.

Hawke's dreams now consisted of being pinned, caged, chained. To her bed, to her father, to the dinner table. Bound and gagged as her family laughed and ate and lived. Most times the bonds were metal, with something like runes that would negate her power. On nights that followed a day where people were hurt and killed before her, tormented as she watched and stayed silent for fear of outing her family, the bonds would be flesh. The flesh of those she had killed, or who had died because she feared to save them.

If she was sexually frustrated, the bonds would be rope or leather...or silk. She'd be naked and alone as she struggled, hearing snickering and admonishment in the distance. These dreams were the most rare, but also the hardest to shake off; they came to her on nights when her eyes had wandered and she had considered, however fleetingly, having sex with an attractive slave.

Hawke would try to rationalize, telling herself that the slaves were probably the only pure-hearted people in Tevinter, that she would be crazy and destructive wanting to lay with a magister or templar or chantry brother, but she was unsure of herself. Frightened that she was becoming like the people she hated; that her own lack of control in her life would translate into wanting to control another, to make them need her and want her, to boost her confidence and hide her helplessness.

Or maybe she was just lonely, seeking someone who could understand her situation.

"Mistress Hawke?" It was Moira's voice.

"Mmm, wha'is't?" slurred Hawke in her grogginess.

"Yer mum, serah. She's been wantin' a word since last night, but I told her ye were in bed. She wants to eat breakfast with ye, shall I tell her yer on yer way down?" Her plump and cherubic face was so honest, Hawke grumbled an agreement and sent the curly-haired woman on her way. Hawke, not bothering to get dressed, simply tied her housecoat closed with a satin belt and shuffled down the stairs with a graceless yawn.

Upon entering the den and, seeing no one but her mother, Hawke inwardly groaned. Had she found out about what happened last night? Had Bethany recounted the whole embarrassing affair?

"Sit down, Marian." Leandra was pissed. Hawke sat, grabbing a blueberry biscuit to nibble on as innocently as possible.

"What is-"

"I found muddy footprints on the landing this morning, mixed with bits of blood." She looked up at her daughter's face, eyes more concerned than angry. "Tell me, what became of you last night?" Hawke sighed grouchily.

"I was attacked by thieves last night and defended myself. I checked the bodies, they were no one of import. We'll be fine." Hawke tried to sound reassuring, but her voice came out thin and impatient. She hoped her mother wouldn't notice.

"And Bethany? Was she hurt?"

"Ah, no. She wasn't with me. I left her at the party after a...small altercation I had with the guests."

"Maker's mercy, Hawke!" she exhaled dramatically. "You abandoned your sister at the countesses mansion? Where was your head?"

"I didn't _abandon_ anything! SHE left MY side to dance with men she didn't know while I was forced to endure conversation with spoiled brats playing at civility!" Hawke fumed and stood, crushing the half-eaten biscuit in her right hand. Leandra pressed her palms into the table but stayed seated.

"You're supposed to look after her and-"

"She's a big girl, mother, she can take care of herself." Hawke said nonchalantly, her anger quickly stuffed away. She dropped the biscuit on the table and idly wiped her hands with her napkin, not meeting her mother's eyes as she stood to face her.

"Hawke, you need to keep her safe! To watch over her and-"

"I'm her sister not her slave! If she wants to frolic about with men, that's her _choice_! She is smart enough and strong enough to keep _herself_ safe!" Hawke pointed an accusatory finger at her mother. "And if _you_ have a problem with Bethany's behavior, than I suggest you discuss it with _her_." Hawke's voice was dark with repressed malice. Leandra's nostrils flared and her jaw tightened.

"What...are you saying?" Hawke snorted at her mother's attempt to dodge the issue.

"I'm _saying_ stop using me to spy on Bethany for you! Or perhaps stop Carver from spying on me while using Bethany to spy on him!" Leandra lowered her gaze and Hawke gave a gruff bark of humorless laughter. "Yes mother, we've caught on. Your desire to "protect" us from the world is just your veiled attempts at keeping track of us, to make sure _our_ actions don't offend _your_ reputation with the nobles and mages!"

"You think I don't want you safe? That I don't fear for every one of you every time you leave this house?"

"I think that if safety was the chief concern, father would've become a healer rather than a magister, and you might've been a scholar instead of a socialite! They way you both have woven yourselves into the politics of this city, it's as if you never intend to leave Tevinter at all..." The silence was heavy as the two women stared each other down; Leandra's face hard and grim, Hawke simply looked like a small child who had just been told her puppy had run away. "We...w-we will be leaving here someday, right?" Hawke's voice was tiny as she pleaded with her mother. Leandra stood her ground but kept her face blank. Hawke could see a hint of a thought there, however. Leandra wasn't sure. Before she could question her mother further, Moira entered the space.

"Mistress, yer father would like to see ye in his study." She could clearly sense the tension but politely ignored it. Swallowing her budding anxiety, Hawke swept from the room, mind ringing as she tried to make sense of this new information, or lack thereof. She burst into her father's study.

"You wanted to see me-oh! I beg your pardon." Malcolm wasn't alone in the room, another man was standing by her father's bookshelf, goblet of wine in his hand. She curtsied. "I didn't realize you were entertaining company. Shall I-" Hawke backed away from the room.

"No no, come in, dear girl. I should apologize for disturbing the early morning unannounced." The man stepped forward and bowed politely.

"Marian, this is Magister Denarius," began her father, setting down his own cup to stand beside her. "This is my top apprentice, Marian." Hawke inclined her head in greeting, he followed suit, taking a chaste sip of wine afterward. She'd heard rumors about Denarius. He was a very powerful and popular man, which made Hawke distrustful of him almost instantly. "He's my new Spokesman." Hawke rose her brows.

"Spokesman? I wasn't aware you were running for higher office." Hawke tried to keep her voice even, hoping that her surprise would be taken as pleasant.

"Magister Denarius has been kind enough to put my name forward, even ahead of his apprentices. Quite a remarkable man to have in your company." He reached for his drink and took several gulps and Hawke could see the slight twitch of his right eye. He was lying.

"Thank-you for this most gracious blessing, milord, that you have given this man and this household." Hawke smiled and bowed deeply before Denarius, forgetting that her housecoat was only gathered at the waist, giving Denarius an ample view of her cleavage.

He noticed with a grin, but said nothing.

"This is not some flippant gesture. Your father has earned his pace in my favor, Marian." He smiled deeply and Hawke resisted the urge to scowl. "But my visit here is of a more social nature. I have invited your master and his family to my estate, for some friendly competition."

"Competition?" Hawke asked.

"Master Denarius has invited us to a game of duels," her father replied.

"It is all in fun, I can assure you, and perhaps to gage his abilities as mentor and master," Denarius added smoothly. Malcolm lifted his glass in agreement. "Which brings us to your presence, Marian."

"Master Denarius would like you to participate, to duel his top apprentice-"

"Hadriana." answered Denarius with a grin.

"I see." Hawke had a sour taste in her mouth. She didn't like this idea at all, figured it was just Denarius' way of trying to find weakness. "I am honored." She curtsied and both men's eyes lit up.

"Marvelous!" Denarius clapped his hands together. "Well, my friend, I will see you in three days."

"Safe journey, my lord." Once Denarius was out of the house, Hawke rounded on her father.

"Spokesman? What are you playing at, father?" Hawke's voice held more venom then she intended, frustration from her fight with her mother adding heat to the flame of indignation at her father's sudden decision.

"I told you, it was his idea."

"So what? Does that mean your tongue is no longer yours? Has it grown so weak from licking the boots of the high-born that it can only lay limply in your mouth?" Malcolm shot his daughter a cold stare.

"You...do not understand. We are all supposed to be of the same mind here, if I refute a magister of his rank, it will bring suspicion onto our whole family."

"I didn't realize that being a bum-kisser was preferable to being a free-thinking man. What a fool I've been. Tell me, what other nuggets of Imperial wisdom have I been doing without?" She crossed her arms, not willing to give an inch. Malcolm shook his head.

"The higher my rank in the Magisterial Circle, the more freedoms we will have. I'm doing this for us." He pulled his pipe from his desk and lit it with a snap of his fingers, taking a long drag. Hawke watched his movements, looking for any sign of what he was thinking. But of everyone she'd ever known, her father was the only person who was adept at keeping secrets from her when he wanted to.

"We're never leaving are we?" Hawke's voice was quiet with resignation and accusation. Malcolm took several more puffs of his pipe and closed his eyes.

"There's a Blight in Fereldon, in Kirkwall the templars lead the mages on a leash. The winds speak that a war between the mages and templars will soon be upon us."

"And here we are at war with the Qunari! Besides, the Blight will soon be reaching its end! The archdemon has fallen!" He looked up at her, startled. "You think I don't have contacts? What is it you think I do when I'm in the Red Tent District, father?" He flushed with embarrassment and looked away from her. She smirked coldly. "I'm going out."

"But Hawke, our lessons..." She stopped at the door but didn't turn to him.

"I think I can afford to miss one day. Besides, I practice in private all the time. If I have no choice but to put down roots here, then I need to start seeing Tevinter in a whole new light starting now." Hawke left the room without another word. Had she stayed a moment longer, she would have heard her father release a strangled sob.

* * *

The day was bleak. Blankets of grey clouds rolled overhead, but were too high in the sky to promise rain. These passed three days had been peaceful. No Hadriana and two meals a day; just sleeping, eating, and training. Guests were coming, more of Denarius' pets, from the way the other servants had made it sound.

Fenris followed his master and his two star pupils through the grand dining hall and out to the dueling field behind the manor. His fingers itched with anticipation, he would hold his sword and fight something! Maybe even kill it. When he did well, his master would reward him.

Or at least wouldn't punish him.

"I don't understand what this is about, my lord," came Hadriana's simpering but demanding voice. "Who are these..._Hawke's_ to us?" Her tone held such malice with her voicing of the surname, that Fenris had an instant draw to them. Would they hurt his master?

"Malcolm Hawke is a mage of impressive repute. I know of his time before coming to Tevinter, and the life he has made for his family is...impressive. Especially considering that he is a foreigner." All three people in tow seemed confused by Denarius' open praise of another mage. Fenris assumed this meant that Malcolm Hawke would soon have to die. Magisters often killed mages with more power, influence, or resources. Or would sometimes try to form alliances, but that usually wasn't Denarius' style.

"But, my lord, Hawke has very little wealth or prospects," said Abriel, Denarius' second best apprentice. He had been born in Rivain and had sought refuge in Tevinter after sinking the Templar vessel that had tried to take him and several other Rivaini mages to the Circle in Starkhaven. "What could he possibly offer _you_?" His voice held reverence to the point of being forced, but Abriel had a deep respect for Denarius that bordered on fanatic adoration. Denarius smirked.

"I suppose we shall see." He glanced over his shoulder at the group. "One does not have to wait for a man to become a threat to consider him threatening. But Malcolm could be a...useful man if he chooses to be." He returned his gaze to the common road into the arena as a dark carriage and a separate rider approached. "He seemed quite willing to follow my lead. And we all know the value of _compliance_, do we not?" Hadriana snorted in agreement and Abriel raised his chin proudly. Fenris bowed his head submissively, though no one could see it.

The single cloaked rider came to a stop beside the carriage as it pulled up in front of the magister. He smiled warmly at the driver, whose heavy armor was apparent even under his crimson traveling cowl. The single rider hopped off of her horse and opened the carriage door. As the three occupants stepped out, Denarius signaled a few stable boys to come and take care of the horses.

"Lord Denarius! I hope we aren't too early," said Malcolm as he lowered his forest-colored hood and bowed before the man. Denarius waved his hand.

"Nonsense, you're right on time. And your punctuality is appreciated." Denarius tilted his head and the two apprentices stepped forward. "These are my top pupils, Hadriana and Abriel." They each bowed in turn. "And that is my bodyguard, Fenris." He pointed to the elf whose head was downcast but eyes were moving quickly between all of the guests, making sure that no one moved against his master. Malcolm beckoned his family forward.

"This is my wife, Leandra Amell-Hawke." She lowered the hood of her mahogany cloak and bowed before Denarius.

"It's such an honor to be formally introduced, my lord. My circle says many great things about you as both man and master." She was so genuine that it made a few in the present company nauseated.

"This is Carver, my bodyguard, and my apprentices, Bethany and Marian, whom you have already met." Bethany curtsied, a sweet smile for Denarius played on her face and her bright eyes surveyed him with interest. Carver and Marian tilted their heads in greeting; Carver watching Fenris with a hard glare and Marian not even bothering to reveal her face to her hosts, was instead watching the slaves as they led her horses away.

"Marvelous!" said Denarius as he turned from the group. "This way to the arena, there is food and drink awaiting us there."

It was a beautiful arena. There were pieces of immaculately carved stone overgrown with ivy scattered in a neat border around the packed earth. Runic markings were burned into the ground, partially hidden by short labyrinthine hedges that moved within as well as beyond the broken but sturdy walls of the dueling field. Smooth carved seats were several feet off the arena and gave a wonderful view of the entire garden. After a short brunch that was being served by two very attractive and androgynous elven slaves, Denarius decided that the opening duel would be between Abriel and Bethany, who had been a delightful conversationalist, taking up almost all of Denarius' attention easily. Malcolm and Leandra had engaged the pupils cordially, Carver even asking a few questions here and there. Hawke had remained quiet. Watching everyone at the table with equal intensity, including Fenris and the other slaves.

He noted that she watched their movements more then their expressions, and listened to their tone as much as their words. It seemed suspicious to him, made him wonder if she was actually an assassin come to kill his master. Or maybe even an ex-slave by the way she watched people, as it was the same way that _he_ watched them, and he had no idea how to really process that.

Abriel and Bethany took center ring and touched the tips of their staves together by way of a respectful greeting, then took to their sides. Denarius signaled with a loud command and Bethany wasted no time in erecting a paralysis hex while she charged a powerful fireball. Abriel's magical resistance must've been high, since he was able to shrug off the hex quickly, before Bethany had a chance to attack him again. He sent a stonefist in her direction and she deflected it with a twist and a strong blast of spirit magic, then quickly threw her fireball at him. His arcane shield absorbed the lapping flames easily as he charged another spell.

After twenty-three minutes, Denarius declared the duel a draw. Panting and sweating, Bethany and Abriel returned to their seats, drained and deflated. A stale-mate was not acceptable, not even in a game. He beckoned Hawke and Hadriana forward and Fenris tensed with interest. His loyalty to his master's apprentice warred with a nagging sensation of _want_. The want of what, Fenris wasn't sure, he wasn't even truly aware of what want felt like, but a tension coiled within him and his anticipation was palpable. It shamed him slightly, thinking this feeling might mean betrayal and he cast a sidelong glance at his master. He seemed riveted by the pairing and Fenris turned his confusion into pure awareness, detaching all of his unintelligible feelings from his mind.

Hawke, still cloaked, bowed regally before Hadriana, who bowed stiffly in turn. They moved closer and held their staves aloft. Hadriana shallowly pressed her warped wooden tip into Hawke's swordlike one, the metal glinted brightly even in the dull sunlight. Fenris could see Hadriana smile sweetly and mouth the words "good luck", which Hawke received with a tilt of her head. Even without seeing her face, Fenris could tell that she didn't trust Hadriana. A small voice deep inside of Fenris approved, but he immediately felt traitorous for the thought.

The two women faced each other in their corners, Hadriana gripping her staff defensively while Hawke remained in a loose and almost relaxed wide-legged stance with her staff at her side. As soon as Denarius signaled the start, Hadriana struck with a cone of ice. Hawke, erecting an elemental arcane shield rather than attacking, was protected from the magic. With a "humph", Hadriana summoned a swarm of necrotic wasps and guided them toward Hawke. Hawke crouched slightly instead of running and just as the swarm engulfed her, she fried them with a telekinetic force blast. Hadriana snarled and trapped Hawke in a hex of torment. At that same moment, Hawke had cast a force shield around Hadriana, keeping both her and her magic at bay while Hawke shook with the effort to keep standing and not surrender to the pain rippling through her. It was now a question of which spell would fade first. Hadriana's eyes were murderous as she frozenly watched Hawke's obscured face, grunts and small pants being the only visceral evidence of the hex's effect.

Hadriana smiled as the shield around her flickered. She'd be free before Hawke and then win the duel for her master's honor! Her hands burned as she struggled to charge her next spell, but she'd be ready before Hawke could regain her wits. Pain was an _excellent_ distraction.

The shield dropped seconds before the hex and Hawke fell to her knees just as Hadriana hit her with a dispel magic. Hawke recoiled slightly with the temporary loss of her mana pool and shook her head. Hadriana laughed coldly.

"I guess this duel's over, hm?" she asked sarcastically, taking a few steps toward Hawke. "And here I thought you and your master were something special. Denarius has better things to do then play nurse-maid to whelps from across the sea!" Without warning or signs of weakness, Hawke stood and, holding her staff horizontally, spun in a complete circle powerfully; the base of her staff knocking Hadriana's to the dirt and the bladed end stopping a hairs breadth from her throat.

The tinny ring of the blade slicing through the air echoed brightly all around her, drowning out any other noise. The cool hiss of the breeze caused by the swift motion and abrupt stop of the blade danced around her surprised face and trailed a few strands of hair across her vision.

"_Now_ the duel is over," came Hawke's silky and breathless retort. Hadriana's mouth opened and closed several times before she gasped and fell back onto her bottom. Clapping could be heard in the distance and as Hadriana looked over Hawke's hip, she could see a grin on Denarius' face. An _approving_ grin as he stared at the back of her competitor. She growled as she turned from Hawke's offered hand and stood unsteadily, grabbing her staff in the process.

"My lord, that wasn't _fair_!" she whined as she rejoined the group. "I drained her of her magic, _I_ won that duel!" Hadriana managed to still look prideful even as she pouted, and Denarius simply _tsk'd_ and shook his head once.

"The rules are quite clear, my dear. The end of the duel comes by the way of knock-out, stale-mate, surrender, loss of weapon, or death. That is how a proper duel is fought." Hadriana gritted her teeth as she peered over her shoulder at Hawke who was walking toward the lunch table and then turned back to argue with her master, but he spoke before she could say anything else. "I say, Malcolm, we have an Arcane Warrior in our midst, I think." He seemed...proud of that somehow. It made Hadriana furious. She looked to Abriel and only he seemed to share her vehemence toward this weasel Marian Hawke.

"Something like that, yes." Malcolm took a swig of wine to hide his nervousness.

She hadn't moved. Not one step. Fenris was still staring at the battlefield, at the tousled dirt and residual magical auras. Hawke had not moved beyond her first stance in the field. She defeated Hadriana standing still. Aside from her final disarming spin, Hadriana had done all of the physical work, Hawke had read Hadriana's body language before the battle even began and knew that she would attack first, rather then try and bolster her defenses. Essentially, she coaxed Hadriana into hanging herself, as it were.

Fenris was...worried? Frightened? Impressed? He moved closer to his master as Hawke returned to her seat. Denarius stood to congratulate her and when she stood to bow, Fenris tensed and surged a faint amount of focus into his markings.

"That's a formidable elf you have at your side, Lord Denarius. Coming from Fereldon, I have never seen an elf capable of wielding a broadsword, and such curious markings," Malcolm stated and stepped toward them as he scrutinized the elf in question. Fenris shifted his gaze to the man, and noticed peripherally that Hawke did so as well. Denarius turned and smiled smugly as he pushed Fenris forward. Showing off his "trophies" was one of Denarius' favorite pass-times. Fenris tried not to flinch as Denarius pulled his arm upward, giving Malcolm a clearer view of the bare bicep.

"These markings are magical in nature, and give my already talented warrior an...edge on the battlefield. He is the envy of every swordsman in Tevinter!" He squeezed Fenris' arm and despite his best efforts, seized up in the tight grip.

"How about a display then?" asked Bethany as she bent suggestively in front of Denarius to examine Fenris' arm. Denarius spared a glance at her full chest before responding.

"Whatever do you mean, my dear?" Bethany reached out a hand to touch one of the pale-blue markings, but Denarius dropped his arm. She stood meekly and with a flush answered,

"I mean, Fenris versus Carver. A duel of bodyguards." She smiled impishly as Denarius raised a brow.

"It's up to you, my lord. Whatever you wish," offered Malcolm. Denarius chuckled.

"Why not? I daresay I had been tempted to make the suggestion since you arrived. Gentlemen, to your sides." Denarius raised his palms to the arena. Carver stepped out first, confidence dripping from his haughty smirk.

"Good luck, Carver," said Leandra before turning to her husband. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Malcolm?" He took her hand for a moment as he moved to his seat.

"It's just a game, my dear."

The two men faced each other and drew their swords, forming an 'X' with the blades as a sign of respect, and then took several paces backward. After a few tense seconds, Denarius signaled the start of the duel, adding that the rules were the same as those of the mages duel. Carver wasted no time and raced toward Fenris, bellowing a fierce war-cry as he did. Fenris took a counter-stance and managed to hold his ground against the bulkier man as their swords crashed together. Fenris twisted to his right, dislodging Carver's sword from his own and gave a hard kick to the small of Carver's back. Carver grunted as he stumbled forward but turned quickly to block Fenris' swift strikes.

Their swords flew through the air heavily as they danced circles around each other, Carver's strength and stamina matching Fenris' speed and precision. Fenris ducked as Carver attempted a pommel strike and rammed the man in the stomach, knocking the wind from him. Carver, never losing the grip on his sword, grabbed Fenris by the back of the neck to hold him still and raised his knee to pummel into the slave's chest. Fenris rolled away from the impact, turning just as Carver swung his blade in an arc, cutting him shallowly on his sword arm and ribs.

Fenris froze at the sight of his own blood and a kind of shadow fell over him. He growled loudly as he charged at the human, holding his sword almost like a battering ram, and lunging for the center of Carver's gut. Carver knocked the blade to the side, barely, and as he turned to face Fenris, the elf swung his blade in an upward slash, shredding the flesh there from waist to shoulder, the armor no match for the sheer speed of the weapon. Carver fell on his hands and knees before the incensed Fenris and hazily looked up at him, only just aware of his warm blood pooling in his chain-mail glove. Fenris rose his sword over his head, eyes wide and hollow, face etched into a mask of hardened dread. Carver opened his mouth to protest, but Fenris didn't hear, couldn't hear anything but his own wild heartbeat, and the ghosts of screams as his memories of torture and blood-magic fueled his fear and aggression. He forced the blade down as hard as he could, anything to stop the screaming.

'_CLANG!'_

Fenris' constricted pupils dilated to let in the world around him. What he saw came to him in parts, a swath of black hair framing milky flesh, red lips in a thin line of concentration, and fierce, piercing, bright blue eyes giving off both power and warning. They seemed to almost glow, their sharpness causing everything else to become smeared and seamless like a watercolor painting. He felt her trying to tug his weapon away and he snapped back into fight-mode, dislodging and deflecting her blade. Hawke recovered quickly and swung the blunt end of her staff toward his face. He blocked it sloppily with his gauntlet and just as he made to move forward, she lifted her right-hand like a fist as it was surrounded by a soft, yellow light. He felt himself lifted up and almost cradled by the force magic, before she tossed him down like a doll, sliding him several feet away.

"HOLD!" cried Malcolm shrilly as Hawke helped Carver to his feet. Bethany was already there, healing him steadily as Hawke remained guarded against the fallen elf.

"Carver!" Leandra rushed to her son, nearly tripping over his sword.

"What is the meaning of this?" Malcolm questioned the general area. Denarius glowered over his slave's body, Fenris sniffled and apologized, totally aware of the mistake he had made.

"Forgive me master, forgive me please! I didn't mean to offend-"

"Silence," came the hiss of a reply. He turned and went to Malcolm. "I am truly at a loss, this horrid atrocity was never my intent, serah." Malcolm shook his head and faced the others.

"You need to learn to stow that arrogance, Carver! And you," he turned to Hawke "you need to learn some self-control!" Malcolm paced before the group and Denarius seemed amused by the display and Malcolm's lack of interest in the wayward elf. "Not only do you continue to underestimate your opponents, Carver, but you constantly _overestimate_ yourself!" Carver clenched his jaw in defiance, but hanged his head regretfully. "And when are _you_ going to learn some discipline, Marian? Restraint is as important to a mage as any other warrior. It's not your job to save the world!" Hawke didn't cower from her father's gaze, she simply stood rigidly and allowed his words with nothing but a stern expression.

"You are a scathing master, Malcolm," said Denarius with a chuckle. Malcolm took a deep breath and turned to the man.

"I should be. They're my children, after all." Denarius was silent for several beats before looking over the young trio, focusing most intently on Hawke's eyes.

"Aha, yes. I see the resemblance now. With that serious expression, you're like a small version of your father."

"Thats what we used to call her, Little Hawke," said Leandra absently "and then eventually, just Hawke." Her relief at her sons safety was causing her tongue to be loose, Hawke bristled.

"How quaint," said Denarius with a sly smirk. "Take our guests inside please and see them to their rooms." He indicated his pupils. They stepped forward and took the lead without question, although by their faces they obviously weren't used to such menial orders. "Now I shall attend to my...bodyguard's punishment." He bowed gracefully at the Hawke family as they departed, Hawke herself lagging behind to watch the master and slave.

Denarius approached Fenris' prone form and pulled from his belt a tightly coiled metal whip. He unfurled it quickly and it hit the dirt with a clinking thud.

"You almost made a mockery of my name and reputation. What a mess this could've been." He raised the whip and slashed it across Fenris' scapulas. "I would've had to kill his entire family." He whipped Fenris in a downward slash, making a crooked 'T' shape on his back, the wounds so deep the blood flooded over his armor. "You may not understand this, seeing that you are a worthless bit of garbage, but they have more use to me, _alive_." Another flash of the whip, making the 'T' into a crooked 'H'. Fenris was gasping for breath, pale and trembling.

"Master..." he could say nothing else. Just as Denarius was about to raise the whip again, a voice called out to him.

"My lord!" said Hawke from not too far away, but also not close enough to have heard the exchange. He looked up. She raised her hand delicately and smiled softly. "Lead me?" Denarius grinned and folded the whip into its proper position.

"Of course," he called out to her. "This is no place for a lady." As he moved to leave, Denarius kicked Fenris in the ribs, causing him to roll onto his back and force dirt into his wounds. He coughed at the pain, but was too weak to aid himself.

Denarius took Hawke's arm and led her to the house.

"Will he be alright out here? Won't you need him?" Hawke asked with as little concern as she could muster. Denarius snorted.

"It's just for the night. Hopefully this lesson in manners will not soon be forgotten." Hawke had to resist the urge to turn and look at Fenris.

The pain was so intense, and the cold was starting to make it worse. But Fenris knew that he couldn't move, or his master would return and unleash worse horrors upon him. What a fool he had been! He tried so hard to an obedient slave but...something about that sword. It must've had some sort of enchantment that caused his lyruim to react so badly. How else could he lose control so easily? With another shuddering breath, Fenris surrendered himself to sleep.

When he awoke it was black as pitch. He was stiff everywhere and his back burned. He was lying on his belly, the scent of earth and grass was comforting, but there was another scent, an impossible one. Fenris opened a bleary eye and was greeted with the site of a covered dish. As he reached for it, he realized that his back didn't sting as much as it should've. He ripped the lid from the dish and saw pot roast, potatoes, and cooked apples beside a glass of milk. He stuffed the food in his mouth quickly. The soft potatoes filling his belly as the buttery meat satisfied a more carnal hunger. The apples left such a sweet taste in his mouth that he had never known. He took the glass of milk and after a small sniff, (which told him there was also honey in it) Fenris drained the contents gratefully, practically purring. When he stopped to breathe, Fenris realized there was a slightly sour taste in his mouth. With a jolt of panic, Fenris rationalized that the meal must've been poisoned. His master was punishing him still for his transgression. But just as Fenris made to force himself to wretch, he felt a soothing tingle under the skin of his back. Fenris licked his lips again and knew, he had taken a small measure of a healing potion. He could tell by the dull ache that his wounds weren't healed completely, which was probably for the best anyway, but the pain and muscle damage were gone, leaving just the ugly surface damage. Fenris sighed in confusion. Who could've done this? And why? As Fenris was debating whether or not he should sleep in the dirt or return to his master for instructions, his eyelids grew heavy. The milk must've also been laced with a sleeping draught, as Fenris couldn't keep his eyes open. As he dizzily fell back to the ground, Fenris was sure he saw the bustle of a purple cloak.

* * *

**Author's notes:**

"Focus" is essentially "will" in the story, I'll probably use both terms. :)

I imagine Hawke's staff as the Eye of the Storm. (The one that does electrical damage and has the winged blade at the end of it.)

Sorry for the excessive use of "dueling arena" and "dueling field", I've been on an Utena kick!

I made the chapter long, to make up for the lack of updates.

I'll try to update AT LEAST once a month! (Which, if you know my track record, is pretty good.) But hopefully it'll be more than that.

I really appreciate the alerts and favorites! But I would like some reviews, as I haven't gotten any for this story yet. :(

I know the story is still in its infancy and the plot has only begun to bubble (not really) but...yeah. As you can tell, this story will unfold slooooooowly, at first anyway.

Thank-you very much for reading! I love being a part of this community!

Fun fact: my honest to God middle-name is Fenris-Wolf. I was named for the beast in Norse mythology. Imagine my excitement when our favorite elven slave was born! :D

Happy reading!


	4. The Darkness

Idolatry

The Darkness

Rated **M**. (But I guess you know that by now...)

* * *

There was one thing about slaves Hawke appreciated; the good ones never questioned you. This was also the thing that scared her about slaves.

After a heavy dinner and overwhelming dessert, Denarius had some of his servants, all of whom looked well-fed if not a bit haunted, play music and perform visually pleasing forms of acrobatics. Hawke had noticed with a grim sense of awareness that all of the more aggressive dancers were human males, whereas the more feminine performances were all done by females and slight elven males. The event seemed festive and well put together, but Hawke had read between the lines of well-trained dancers and expensive costumes. The stories being played out by the dancers all involved control and submission. The human men all had vestments that made them seem powerful and animalistic, while the fairer dancers were fearful and doll-like, bearing little resistance to the demands of the males even as they trembled in shame.

It made Hawke smug. This little display was more telling about Denarius' personality than all of his conversations combined.

She watched her family, they all seemed unaware of the subtext, aside from maybe her father. It didn't look like he knew, but he was smarter than herself, so he _had_ to know what this entertainment meant.

As the performance drew to a close, Hawke practically scoffed at the lingering final message; the alpha males got everything they'd ever wanted by being dominant and ruthless and the suffering ended for the submissives once they simply endured what the men wanted rather than fight against it and think for themselves.

As Denarius and her father decided on a night-cap, the others all went to bed. Hawke herself was too worried about the Fenris to sleep, so she'd asked an elf to bring her a late-night snack. The elf in question responded without hesitation, and for that, Hawke was grateful.

After spiking the meal with some potions on hand, she waited until the main hall went dark before stealthily shimmying from her window and lurking to the arena.

Stealth wasn't her strong point, but she was much better at it than she'd let her siblings know. She knew how to use the Fade to partially obscure herself, it was mostly illusion, as she had little practice in entering the Fade while awake, but it worked well enough in the dark.

Fenris had been a mess. She had gently rolled him over and cleaned his injuries enough to prevent infection and left the tray by his face. She lingered close-by, just out of sight, so she could return the cutlery. If Denarius found out what she was doing, Fenris would pay, she knew that much. But she couldn't just ignore him, even after he'd almost killed her brother.

There was something about his face in those last moments of the fight, it was...obscured somehow. Suddenly, Fenris just wasn't there anymore, had been replaced with old memories and buried fears.

She watched his slow breathing and eyed the tattoos on his skin objectively. Hawke knew that Carver's armor and weapons had a special enchantment that helped disperse lyrium and mana channels. Had that effected the elf somehow?

The purpose behind such enchantments was to keep Carver safe from the mages here and...make sure that his magical relatives could be struck down in case they became ensorcelled by demons. It made Carver feel important and strong, like _he_ was the powerful one in the family rather than her father and herself.

It made Hawke's heart ache. She and Carver had always been rivals, but since moving to Tevinter, things had changed. He didn't feel oppressed by her shadow anymore, which she knew was a good thing, but the personal empowerment he'd discovered had seemed to cause them to drift apart. Her relationship with her siblings was so businesslike now, and she wasn't sure which of the three of them was more at fault. Although she suspected it was herself as of late.

Hawke didn't trust them anymore, plain and simple. Plus, she worried for them, didn't want them to know anything about her illegal activities. While she resented their easy adjustment to life in Minrathus, she also thought it was for the best. If any of them needed to suffer, it was her place as the eldest to bear that burden, shield them from it, as she always had.

Fenris stirred and she watched alertly as he gobbled up his food, her eyes tearing up with the sheer instinctual _joy_ such a necessary act brought him.

This single act of Fenris struggling to eat represented all of the evil she hated about this place. She instantly regretted not coming to him sooner, not feeding others she had seen, of eating so much herself that night. Hawke's resolution doubled in the brief minutes it took for Fenris to fill his belly, and as he passed out from the drops of sleeping potion, she swept over and collected the soiled dishes. Hawke paused for a brief moment to watch his face. Not a peaceful slumber was he given to, but his body would enjoy the rest.

His snow white hair ruffled as a chilled wind swept passed them. They shivered in unison and she loathed the idea of just walking away from a person in need...again. Hawke considered wrapping him in her cloak, but knew better. After a few seconds of pacing and debating, she managed to cast a low-energy spell on the dirt around his body. It heated the earth enough that residual warmth should keep him from getting ill, at least, she hopped it would. There was only enough magic to last until sunrise and she hoped it would be enough.

Fenris relaxed minutely as the heat reached his skin and Hawke was tempted to brush a soothing hand across his cheek. She gritted her teeth in anger and confusion. Obscuring herself once more, she made for the house.

Hawke wasn't sure why she didn't just climb back up the wall and through the window while she instead used the servants entrance to get into the house, but she was in the kitchen before she could stop herself. A startled elf greeted her fearfully, and after many an apology on both ends, Hawke managed to get her side of the story out.

"I was just returning this from my snack and wanted to take in a bit of reading before bed, no need to worry." Hawke's tired voice was full of reassuring lilts and the slave was torn between believing her and just agreeing with her so she would go. Not wanting to cause anymore distress, Hawke, bowed and swiftly left the room. It was only as she approached the common library that Hawke had realized the elf's cause for such nervousness.

The tip of his nose and outside of his bow-like lips had been dusted in sprinklings of powdered sugar. He must've been sneaking treats for himself and Hawke was partially proud of his desire to defy his master. She hoped it was simple gluttony and not starvation that bade him take such risks, however.

As Hawke was now completely not tired, she decided she _would_ take in a bit of late night reading, seeing as how Denarius hadn't forbade her family from touring the common floor of his sprawling home.

As she approached what she hoped was the library, the flickering candle-light from under the crack in the door made her stop. She moved away from the threshold of light and to the side of the door, suppressing the desire to use magic to conceal herself.

Hawke leaned against the frame and listened, hoping to catch her father and Denarius speaking unreservedly. The sound that escaped the cracks of the door utterly panicked her.

A swift slap and a soft moan.

Oh no...Andraste no! Her father was NOT having an affair with Denarius, giving in to the magister's needs to ensure his continued position as Spokesman!

But the next gasp of a noise gave Hawke pause, there was no way a man could've made such a mewling sound. She cleared her head and listened on.

"_...what has gotten you into such a state tonight, sweet girl?"_ That was a man's voice, definitely Denarius'. There was a muffled whimper before the response came.

"_I have failed you my lord, I lost the duel...I must be punished!" _Her voice pitched at the end, most likely due to unexpected movement on Denarius' part. Hawke's face blanched.

"_Who bested you, Hadriana?"_ he questioned with a gruff voice, as though he was holding back. She mumbled something and Hawke heard the slap again, louder this time, Hadriana keened.

"_Marian Hawke!"_ she hissed and Denarius grunted. Dull thuds could be heard under the continued mewling of the apprentice and Hawke flushed and grimaced, stiffly turning and walking to her room without even realizing she was moving, as her thoughts were still glued to the door, hearing the noises of their depravity.

Her head sizzled. The way Hadriana had said her name, it was like a taunt, the tone akin to a...lurid sweet nothing you'd say to egg a lover on. It was like a sick secret that was used to make the rough activities even angrier. It made her queasy.

Hawke flew into her room and locked the door, leaning against it weakly, panting with the effort to keep from retching. Her heart didn't slow and she pounded her fist on the door in frustration. Even as her mind heaved in disgust, Hawke's traitorous body shivered with arousal.

Not at the thought of the degrading sex-play and most assuredly not at the thought of the people involved, but at just the sheer act of the coupling itself that at least sounded enjoyable despite the punishing air. It had Hawke's body physically preparing itself for its own stimulation. She swallowed the bile in her throat.

Surrounded by such bizarre expressions of want, denying her own most basic of needs, had her responding to even the hint of intercourse, even if the entire situation and persons involved were undesirable.

Hawke took a deep breath. She remembered reading some literature written by a scholar who had once been in the Chantry, a lay brother who worked closely with templars in the Circle of Magi and heard confession for them and the mages alike. He'd proposed that while chastity was a sign of devotion, as the focus needed for such actions could be instead turned toward the Maker, it shouldn't be forced as a vow for everyone entering knighthood or sisterhood. He postulated that certain people were less healthy denying such a natural act, and that sometimes the sacrifice of giving up their sexuality caused more distraction then simple consistent sexual indulgence did. Furthermore, the forced denial of such strong needs often caused sexual fantasies to become more warped and all-consuming, leaving even non-mages pray to demons.

He was of course ex-communincated and moved from Orlais to Antiva to continue his research.

Hawke knew that's what all this was. She wasn't _really_ enamored with punishing or being punished, she'd just been removed from normal behaviors for so long that her body's needs were responding desperately out of instinct. Her mind had been so detached from such things that she hadn't realized how much she craved affection and intimacy. Sexual yes, but also other types of attentions as well. Hawke inhaled slowly as her body hummed at a less frantic pace. Mentally drained and emotionally starved, her body tickling with physical want. Hawke imagined a grunting Denarius rutting Hadriana from behind; the apprentices wrists held in her master's hands, small cuts and bruises forming on the woman's bare flesh, both faces contorted in a grim sort of pleasure.

Hawke swallowed, her body going cold, releasing her held breath in a rush and opening her eyes at last. Calmly she washed and dressed for bed, her movements steady, neither hurried nor leisurely. Once in her woolen nightdress, Hawke wandered to the window. She could barely make out Fenris' prone form in the distance, and even from this far off, could feel the slight tingle of her spell, though it was probably more of a projection then an actual sensation. After several long minutes of staring in his wake until her vision was entirely blank, Hawke ghosted to her bed and laid down, flat on her back like a corpse.

As she closed her eyes, the sudden darkness caused her thoughts to stray. She needed to satisfy her needs somehow, so this sort of shock would never over-run her system again. Hawke tried to imagine something, anything, to actually conjure arousal in herself now. Her breathing evened out as she drifted towards sleep, unable to think of anything in her new life that excited her sexually. She remembered her first time and the handsome young templar she'd known. Hawke pictured him as he might look today, as a man, tall with thick, well-toned muscles, his face chiseled but still sweet. She sighed sharply. She didn't want to do this now, here, in Denarius' house! But she was concerned with how this stress would effect her in the morning. Grumbling, she leapt from the bed and grabbed her staff, practicing the lunging and sweeping strikes that put her entire body in motion, fluxing and churning her mana channels, charging them for spells that never came.

After nearly an hour of this, Hawke went to the small but lavish bathroom adjoining her room and stripped away her gown, as both it and she were drenched in sweat. Focusing her mana once more, she clenched her jaw and pushed a huge amount of ice magic into the bathtub, concentrating on shaping it into a giant rose. Hawke coughed as her reserves wavered. It looked like a flower, with not much detail. She gave a half-smile and melted the thing with a burst of flames. She stepped into the cool water weakly and had to suppress a shout of alarm at the temperature.

Once her utilitarian scrub was finished, Hawke dried her hair and flopped onto the bed, wrapping herself in her towel and blankets like a cocoon while fitful visions of elven dancers and stoic templars lulled her about in the hazy Fade.

* * *

I know this is short and didn't really go anyway but to an angsty place that is important for Hawke's character but doesn't do much for the plot, but I am befuddled with writers block and instead of waiting for inspiration, I decided to publish what I had. :/

I am tossing some ideas around, so updates will happen! (How to transition from this scene into the more plot-relevant ones is what I'm suffering with, but I'll figure it out!)

Thanks for the adds/faves/reviews!


	5. The Darkness, part 2

**Idolatry**

The Darkness

Part 2

Rated **M**, owned by BioWare.

*Persona-doll, aka Voodoo doll.

**Taken more religious liberties. (Butchered them, trying to weave them into the story, not to be offensive.)

* * *

The cool water hit him hard, like glass breaking across his skin. Fenris gasped and sat up, his eyes bleary and a bitter taste in his mouth. A grey-clad figure loomed a few feet away, and even with his smeared vision and buzzing head, he knew it was his master.

"You stink, Fenris. I was afraid the wild hounds would come for you, thinking you were but a dead beast," Denarius snarled as two of his favorite house-elves scrubbed Fenris' body and clothes in a large pig trough.

"Master, I'm sorry," Fenris croaked in a wispy voice, throat dry and tongue thick. "How-"

"Shut your mouth, little wolf, I will tell what you need to know." Denarius sat on a wooden chair that was so clean, it must've been brought into the barn this morning. Fenris sat silently in the trough, water with bits of dirt an blood rippled against his waist and his exposed feet were starting to go numb as they hanged over the edge of the make-shift tub. Denarius waved the mute elves away before continuing.

"After a bit of drink and conversation last night with Magister Hawke, I discovered a little secret about his arms and armor." Fenris listened raptly, even as he stared at the ground. "It seems they have a Tranquil servant who is a tutor for the Hawke children and has made some impressive enchantments for his sons accoutrements. As he is not a mage himself, but must be strong enough to kill one to protect his father."

Fenris had been right, it was the sword!

"So, I believe I will show you some, _mercy_, Fenris, as you did help me to discover a layer of cleverness about Malcolm that I may have otherwise missed." Denarius stood and gestured for Fenris to follow suit, which he did quickly. His vision went white for a moment and Fenris grabbed the wall beside him. Denarius watched with a predatory pleasure; seeing Fenris' wet and naked body with all its power and poise quiver weakly was quite enjoyable. He stalked closer to Fenris as he steadied himself, opening his robes as he did so. Fenris took several gulps of air, his back sagged with ache and his stomach growled despite his tasty meal late in the night.

Suddenly, Denarius' hands were on his shoulders and he was spun around to face the wall. Fenris rested his forehead against it to fight his dizziness.

"Do not make me regret my kindness to you today, Fenris!" he hissed against the elf's ear. With one hand, Denarius grabbed a handful of Fenris' snowy hair and tugged his head back and bit the elf's exposed throat, leaving a mark, while his other hand slapped both of Fenris' butt-cheeks with as much force as the confined space allowed him. Once Denarius saw the skin was red, he spread the slave's cheeks and buried himself inside quickly; Fenris' still wet body had made the transition somewhat easy on the elf.

Fenris yelped despite himself and Denarius moved faster, taking more pleasure from his slave's pain then even his own pleasure afforded him. Denarius moved his hands from Fenris' hips to his shoulders, pulling his body downward and forcing the elf to arch his scarred back. Fenris groaned in pain loudly as one of the wounds from the night before cracked open. Denarius grunted in pure bliss at his slave's discomfort, causing him to pound harder.

Fenris focused on the pain in his back, on staying still unless Denarius moved him. He tried to keep his head clear of anything else but what his master wanted him to think or do. But as the minutes passed and his pain threshold was reached, Fenris' thoughts wandered, in their exhausted state, to the night before. The food, the cloak...who had nursed him? And why?

A swish of a purple cloak...purple..._Marian Hawke_?

Why would she do such a thing?

It must be a ploy to get him to betray his master, she must be a spy of some sort.

Fenris would be sure to keep his eyes on her, and at the first sign of treachery, she would die by his hands.  
Denarius pulled out and spilled himself on the small of Fenris' back with a roar of satisfaction. Fenris returned to the present and gazed over his shoulder at his master's form as he righted his garments.

"There are clothes for you on the bucket. Clean yourself up first before you go inside. We'll be in the southern conservatory." With that, Denarius strode away. Fenris limped over to the dirty water and plopped inside, whimpering as it stung all of his sore spots. And with reasons Fenris didn't have the vocabulary to discern, he started to cry silently.

* * *

Hawke awoke to a very warm room. Her heart seemed to be beating in spasms. Sweat beaded her face and neck, her cheeks were hot, her core prickled.

She was rested but in a fog. Desire demons had been nipping at her mind all night, and while her body had slept, her mind had battled with threats both real and imagined. She had a strong resistance to demonic influences, it was her waking needs that caused her more trouble then being in the Fade. In the Fade, trust no one but yourself, in Tevinter, one would think that rule still applied, but it didn't. You had to trust people sometimes, at least in Hawke's line of work. She had to trust that certain slaves wouldn't just turn her in, or that the people she worked with wouldn't betray her to save themselves. Otherwise, she'd have to take on the slave trade all on her own. Hawke rolled out of bed, her damp coverings falling to the floor, the morning sun warmed her taught and womanly form. It felt nice.

"Good morning, mistress," came a soft voice. Hawke spun on her heels, covering her nakedness. It was a slave, one of the twins from brunch. Hawke was almost sure it was the male, as the shoulders were a bit broad. He had his eyes trained on the floor, a bundle of clean clothes in his arms, and a tea cart behind him.

"How long have you been in here?"

"Twenty-minutes, mistress."

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Master Denarius said you were not to be disturbed." His face fell slightly. Hawke had scolded him without realizing it.

"Ah, thank-you. That was...thoughtful. You did well to listen." He bowed his head slightly and opened his arms, a white silken robe unfurled and he moved toward her. Hawke turned as he approached and he slipped the cloth over her arms on onto her body. He moved to her front and tied it for her. She clenched her jaw. It was long but quite snug, it didn't completely cover her breasts and it hugged her round bottom obscenely. Had Denarius picked this out? That thought made her shudder. She couldn't possibly eat breakfast with her family dressed like this!

"Tea?"

"Um, yes please." Her throat was a bit dry. He poured her a large cup from the still steaming pot, placing a bit of cream and honey in it, the way she had taken her tea during the duels. On the saucer, he put a larger ginger-lemon scone and indicated that she sit in the comfy chair by the window. She did.

"Breakfast will not be for another hour or so, mistress, I am to entertain you until then." Hawke took the cup and sipped the warm liquid. He moved to her bed, cleaning up after her mess.

"I'm sorry about all of that," Hawke wanted to help him.

"It's no trouble, mistress. Enjoy your tea." Hawke guzzled the rest of the drink and stuffed the cookie in her mouth. If she finished quickly, she could get dressed and help him. But he was a good worker, and finished before she could swallow.

"Thank-you," Hawke said sheepishly. He bowed and asked if she wanted another cup. She agreed and watched him pour it. "What's your name?"

"Chester, miss."

"What is it you do, Chester? What are your typical duties to your...master?" She nearly gagged on the last word. He hesitated for just a moment before answering.

"I clean, wash linens, serve, dance, and please him."

"Those things aren't included in pleasing him?" Hawke spoke before she could really absorb his words.

"Pleasure him, miss." He sat the cup on the table and Hawke needed all of her willpower to keep from vomiting. He stood impassively before her as she reached out a shaky hand for her tea.

"Do you have anything stronger?" Hawke asked without thinking. Chester nodded and opened a drawer on the cart, pulling out what looked like a deep plum brandy. He poured her a short glass and placed it on the table beside her saucer. She stared at the alcohol, weighing her options. Why not? It was just one shot. Barely a mouthful. And she needed to relax. Plus, the seal hadn't been broken until Chester opened the bottle, so she knew it probably wasn't poisoned. She took the hit quickly and swallowed the searing sweetness just as Chester spoke.

"I am permitted to pleasure you as well, mistress." Hawke slowly moved her head to look him in the face, her brain starting to pleasantly fuzz around the edges.

"What?" Her voice was deep from the burn, her incredulity sounding more sultry then threatening.

"You are one of Master Denarius' honored guests and I am your personal slave during the duration of your visit. I am here to serve your every whim." He took a step toward her and poured her another shot.

"I have no such whims." Hawke crossed her arms under her breasts, pronouncing them accidentally and pouted her lips. Her dreams would indicate otherwise, but she didn't have to tell him that.

"If I may, you seemed restless in your dreams, mistress. I can help you." His soft lilt was almost Antivan, but not quite.

"Help me?" Hawke was almost bitter, she didn't even know how to help herself, wasn't even sure if she deserved any help. Chester must've taken her question as an invitation and moved behind her. Just as Hawke was about to protest, he placed his cool hands on her shoulders and began to rub gently. Hawke froze at the contact, it wasn't sexual, but it felt good. It was the first time she had been touched outside of her family or battles since she got here.

"Your muscles are so stiff, mistress, relax." She complied, exhaling and slouching slightly. He massaged her shoulders and neck slowly, increasing pressure with every little sound Hawke made. It really felt wonderful, to just relax and have the tension pushed away. Hawke coughed slightly when she realized she was about to drool.

She was panting slowly, tears forming on the edges of her eyes. So much pain and stress. All these years, even before moving to the Imperium, were bottled-up inside her muscles. In blood magic, there was a term, flesh memory. It was how fetish magic like persona-dolls were able to work. Your flesh knows you, is you, everything you ever experienced was etched into your flesh and blood like a book. As Hawke was having her muscles rubbed, her flesh was able to experience a closure to situations her mind had long since come to terms with. She sniffled.

"It's alright, miss," Chester soothed as his fingers kneaded her arms "I'll take care of you." His hands slid forward and cupped her breasts, pulling the material back and exposing her hard nipples to the open air. Hawke grasped his wrists tightly.

"What do you think you're doing?" A spike of adrenaline had shot directly into Hawke's brain and any sensual or alcoholic fog had been dissipated. She could feel his warm and shallow breaths on the crown of her head and she refrained from turning toward him.

"I am...serving you, Mistress Hawke. As I have been commanded."

"Denarius 'commanded' you to-to _fondle_ me?" She didn't know which was worse, being accosted by a man, knowing that it had been his master's wish, or the stark realization that she enjoyed it.

"Not precisely. But he instructed me to alleviate all tensions from you and to serve you as I would serve him." He sounded generally alarmed, not just because he might have disobeyed, this was pure fear for his life. Hawke was over-reacting. This wasn't a battle, this was a slave conditioned to follow orders and cues, Hawke was technically making the mistake, not Chester. Maybe she was just angry because she could still feel the heat of his hands on her chest.

She let go of his hands.

"Thank-you for the shoulder rub, it was perfect, but I have no further physical needs, aside from perhaps eating and getting dressed." She stood and turned to him, he had his head down, she put her hand on his cheek. He flinched slightly. Hawke tried not to scowl. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm...sorry for not being more specific about my needs." Hawke hated this, but it was the best she could do at the moment. Kindness could only work as long as a revolution was on the horizon in her minds eye, otherwise, Hawke would be just as guilty as every other slave owner in Tevinter. She leaned in and kissed his hair-line briefly. "Why don't you wait outside while I change? Then you can take the cart away." He bowed deeply.

"Whatever you want, mistress." He left the room quickly and Hawke sighed. She drank her tea and ate a few more pastries, deciding at the last minute to forgo the second glass of rum. She dressed in her riding gear, needing to be alone with her thoughts with the wind in her hair, to feel free for a few moments.

x-x-x

Hawke had been very sweet to Chester, who seemed to be in a lighter mood after she'd given him a direct order, the order being to inform his master and her family that she would be skipping breakfast so she could go for a ride on her horse.

The day was warm and bright in a pleasant way, the grayness from the previous morning had rolled away.

As Hawke approached the stables, she saw Denarius leaving the barn nearby, looking smug. Her memories from last night came to her in a flood and she almost ran back into the mansion.

_'No, Im stronger than this!'_ she mentally chastised. Hawke decided to play nice for now and waved him down. He seemed startled, but recovered quickly.

"Marian Hawke, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He extended his hand. She reluctantly excepted and her whole body churned as he pressed his clammy lips to her knuckles.

"Well, it's such a lovely day, I thought I'd take Lilith for a ride around the common grounds, if you don't mind, messere." Denarius raised a brow.

"Was not Lilith the Old God that first birthed the Darkspawn?" Denarius was amused.

"Actually her story is pre-Andrastrian, she was a demi-god that went against her husband and was made the mother of beasts for it. I don't think the followers of the Chant believe in demi-gods, but her stigma remains."

"You sound well-versed in religious lore, my dear."

"I know enough to make informed spiritual and moral decisions, I suppose."

"Tell me, what was her transgression?" Hawke was momentarily embarrassed. She didn't want to have to explain this part of the story to a man like this, but she would show him no weakness.

"She wanted to be on top during sex."

Denarius blinked, then laughed loudly.

"What sort of pathetic man would refuse such an innocent indulgence?" Hawke wanted to scream, "YOU!" but shrugged instead. "I gather you identify with her...proclivities, yes? No one will tie down the wise and powerful, Marian Hawke." He stooped over her, a cat-like grin on his face. Hawke gulped despite herself. Suddenly, he drew back. "Ah, Fenris, so nice of you to join us." Hawke turned toward him casually, even as her heart raced in concern and she took stock of him. He was hunched slightly more then yesterday, he was pale and the rims of his eyes were pink and puffy. Had he been crying? Hawke's bright eyes darkened with rage. This...creature known as Denarius caused a grown man to weep. Fenris hadn't even cried because of the whip! What monstrosities could've pushed him over the edge when physical pain wasn't enough to break him?

Hawke could only wonder, because she didn't want to know.

Because if she did know, Denarius would be dead.

Maybe, someday, he still would be.

"Master," Fenris rasped and bowed stiffly. Hawke wanted to reach out to him and help him as he struggled to stand, but she took the coward's road and looked away from his suffering.

"Fenris, please do not be rude to our guest who was forced to save her brother from your murderous clutches. Show her your humble respect. And thank her for her _mercy_." His voice slithered over the last word and Fenris flinched slightly.

"Forgive me, mistress. I meant no harm nor disrespect to your family." Fenris curtsied and lifted his gaze to Hawke's face, specifically, her nose. Andraste, help her, Hawke felt a swell of something inside her. She hadn't been addressed by Fenris directly since her arrival here, but his voice. Something was so...erotic about the way his words glided across his tongue. His face was strong but beautiful in that way that elven faces often were, but there was something different about him. All of the sudden, Hawke could feel the tingle on her breasts where Chester had touched them, and she took a deep breath in gloom.

Hawke was attracted to Fenris.

Fenris, the slave.

"It's...q-quite alright, Fenris. We all make mistakes. You've had your reprimand." She looked away from him, from his deep mossy eyes. "Besides, I've done worse to Carver on my best days!" Hawke tried to lighten the mood, and although Denarius chuckled, Fenris' brow creased slightly in confusion.

"I say, it would be rude for a lady to wander the grounds unattended, Fenris, why don't you accompany the young Hawke on her ride?" Denarius suggested regally. Fenris bowed and Hawke gave Denarius a shocked look.

"Really, you needn't trouble yourself, messere-"

"It's no trouble at all, dear girl. I own a lot of acres, Little Hawke, some of them lead to many a dangerous thing." Hawke still looked dubious as she cast a glance at the elf, whose head was downcast noncommittally.

"He's a bodyguard," Denarius stated dryly. "He'll keep you safe." Hawke nodded her assent.

But should her starving desires take hold, who would keep _him_ safe?

Hawke went to the barn to help the hands saddle-up the horses, as Fenris turned to follow, Denarius grabbed his arm.

"Listen to me, pet. I want you to keep your eyes on this one, memorize everything she says and does, everything she looks at. Do everything she tells you and report every single detail back to me, but be discrete about it for Fade's sake!"

"Yes master." Denarius waved to Hawke as she lead her steed by the reins. It was a grey horse with charcoal spots, she was a lovely beast with something of her master's temper. Fenris took one of the strong honey-colored horses that Denarius usually used to pull the carriages. His horse was built for strength, compared to Hawke's sleek mare, who was undoubtedly chosen for speed, as all the strength necessary was possessed in the rider.

She easily hopped up and swung her leg across the saddle. Fenris gracefully leapt onto his horse and looked in her direction. She began to trot and he followed.

"You know these grounds?" Hawke called over her shoulder, both nervous and happy to be interacting with the elf. At least Denarius couldn't hurt him if he was with her.

"Yes, mistress," he answered stiffly.

"Are there any scenic routes with a breath-taking view of the city?"

"I know of a mountain path about an hours ride from here." He sounded so monotonous in his responses, like he wasn't really there. Hawke wanted to help him, she wanted to help all slaves. She wondered whether or not she could convince him to be free. But he was so close to Denarius, she could tell by the way Fenris moved and even by how he dressed that he was special among the slaves. She couldn't trust Fenris. As much as he needed saving, he might be too far-gone. There was no defiance in his eyes and just a little bit too much fear.

She wouldn't give up on him though, but she didn't have a lot of time. She'd only be at the estate for another four days, and Hawke couldn't imagine needing any reasons to return here.

But she had to try.

And not just because his beauty made her heart ache.

"Fenris!" He stopped and glanced toward her. "Challenge?"

"Pardon, mistress?"

"I'd like to challenge you to a race. To the tops of the cliffs. There's a prize if you win."

"A prize, mistress?"

"Hiyah!" Hawke bade Lilith to run and they sped away quickly. Fenris stared for a moment before kicking the horses side to spur him and he was hurrying to catch up, even though he didn't quite understand what Hawke was up to.

But he would not let his master down.

He would watch and obey Hawke.

And if need be, Fenris would kill her to protect Denarius.

This really wasn't a good idea. Hawke just wanted an excuse to ride fast, to feel like she was flying, but all of the...bouncing was starting to get to her. She leaned forward and stood for the most part, but she could still feel the vibrations traveling up her legs and dancing on her center. Every time Lilith jumped a rock or a pile of debris, the hard landing made her moan softly.

At one point, the path veered, and Hawke, not knowing which way was best stayed on the lower path, which caused Fenris to briefly take the lead. And without trying, she saw it.

His firm, shapely, buttocks.

His leather breeches were tight, and Hawke felt a flash of heat at the shape of him. Add to the fact that she couldn't see the outline of small-clothes and Hawke nearly toppled off her horse. She pressed forward, using verbal commands to usher her baby onward, and cut into Fenris' lead. Once she new she was going to win, Hawke slowed her pace and after less than a dozen gallops, it happened.

Hawke had an orgasm.

She gasped and yelled in surprise as it rocked her briefly but violently. Tears stung her eyes and she slid from her horse, landing on unsteady legs. Fenris pulled up beside her.

"Are you hurt, mistress?"

"No, I just...pulled a muscle." Hawke lumbered toward a tree, which had bright and shiny red apples growing from its branches. Hawke grabbed two fat ones and plucked them down, tossing one to Fenris once he finished securing the horses to a gnarled stump.

Fenris gazed at the fruit, at the dewy red skin, it was the same red as Hawke's lips. Fenris watched as she sat on a large tree root and gazed out at the outer city below where the nobility lived. She had laid her staff on the dirt by her feet so she could sit comfortably and she reservedly bit into the firm flesh.

This was not the warrior who had bested Hadriana yesterday, nor was it the questionable mage who had healed him. She seemed so...empty somehow. Fenris didn't know how to articulate it. She had been so present, even a cause for alarm as his master wanted her observed. But as she sat there, almost completely relaxed, slowly eating the juicy sweet thing, loosing herself in the swirls of mist that surrounded the castle-like structures of the secretive elite, she just didn't seem like the threat he had thought she was.

But maybe that was part of her plan of attack?

"Fenris, I know you're hungry. Please eat the apple." She looked ever to him, catching his eyes and he immediately ducked his head. "There aren't any worms in it." He heard her teeth sink into the meat and the squelching as she chewed, his eyes training on a drop of juice as it trailed down her hand and wrist.

What spell had been cast upon him? His mind swirled and his face flushed, and he wracked his brain for the incantation that surely must have been spoken to him during their brief exchange.

His lyrium pulsed slightly in frustration as he fought to remember, but as he recounted her words, he realized there was nothing magical about them, it was simply the manner in which she spoke to him that left him so disarmed, he just didn't know why.

But she had said, **please**.

Like it was a request and not a demand, _please_.

He'd never heard it spoken that way before, had never heard the word from a person who wasn't begging or scoffing.

Please?

Fenris chanced a look at her, her eyes were fixed on the landscape again. Her apple was finished, even the core, leaving just the stem as she rolled it between her long and tapered fingers.

Denarius had told him to obey, so he would eat the apple.

But because she'd said please, he _wanted_ to eat the apple.

He wanted to _please_ her.

What a menace this woman was! He didn't understand her at all!

Or he didn't understand himself.

Fenris looked at the ripe surface and scowled.

It was just a piece of fruit, and Denarius had told him to obey, and she had asked this of him.

It was that simple. He would continue to watch her, but if this was all a part of some treacherous game, then surely his master would beat her, with his sword at his side.

Fenris took a bite.

The pulp was sweet and crisp, with a hint of pleasant tang. Some juice dribbled down his chin, but he didn't care. It was delicious, almost deliriously so. He devoured the apple in seconds, making a mess on his face and gauntlets.

"Would you like some more. Fenris?" He glanced up at her quickly, those cerulean eyes of hers drawing him in a few seconds too long, but he gave no answer.

"Well, I'm going to have another one, and I think you should have one as well."

"Yes, mistress." Fenris couldn't disobey an order. She took two more from the tree, but this time, she walked over to Fenris, he shifted nervously at her approach and she slowed her pace.

Hawke giggled when she saw his face.

"You got it everywhere, Fenris. Here." She handed him both pieces of fruit as she reached behind her and pulled out a wineskin and a kerchief from the small pack she had with her. After pulling off the top and taking a swing, she lifted the skin to his mouth. "Drink, please." Fenris wrapped his lips around the tip and swallowed several mouthfuls of water. Next Hawke wet the kerchief and gently wiped his face. His breath hitched and his jaw clenched. "Does it hurt?"

"It's just a cloth and some water, mistress" Fenris said, voice raspy and tight. Hawke's clear blue eyes, which Fenris could see in his peripherals, seemed to soften around the edges.

"I meant your back." Her voice was even softer than her expression. Fenris seized up and Hawke pursed her lips as she ceased her machinations. She tried to catch his eyes but he turned his face stubbornly and Hawke got a good glimpse of his neck.

It was long and slender like the rest of him, deceptive in its delicate appearance, but Hawke knew better then to think him a waif. His strange tattoos were there as well, but Hawke was concerned with another mark.

"What's that?" She reached for it and he backed away from her hand, inhaling though his teeth and covering the spot before she could touch it. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me." She put her hands up, palms out and fingers open so he could she she posed no threat.

"It...it's..." Fenris floundered, humiliated and hurt.

It was proof, proof of his servitude, proof of his ownership, it was a mark of punishment and degradation, dominance, and weakness. But Fenris didn't know how to feel any of those things, had no practice in expressing such sentiments. Instead, he grew angry at her mentioning of the thing, not why it was there or who put it there, since he had no way of questioning his master's choices and whims, but she, he could be angry at her, because she noticed, she saw, it couldn't be a secret anymore. The shameful things that Fenris was taught were normal despite his pain and reluctance were real now, she had validated his doubts, but he could do nothing for himself, and he hated her for it!

"Calm down. I'm sorry, Fenris. It's alright."

"Why did you do it?"

"I thought you were hurt-"

"Last night, mistress! Why did you..." Fenris' anger subsided, as often happens with misplaced emotions. This was all wrong. He had a job to do, he was being weak, if his master had been here, he'd be punished for his transgressions. He looked Hawke in the face, not quite at her eyes, but close enough. She watched him raptly. "Forgive me, mistress."

"I...for what?"

"I resisted you, I should be punished." He lowered his head

"No."

"Mistress?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Fenris! I shouldn't have tried to touch you."

"If that is your wish, mistress, you may touch me." Hawke faltered, her hands clenching into loose fists. "And mistress may punish me, it is your place. I am a slave." Hawke was breathing deeply and slowly. If she wished to touch him she could? Oh, Maker. He probably tasted like apples and the spring wind.

This was wrong, they'd gotten off-track. Hawke was only trying to help him, to gain his trust, but now he was pulling rank on her? He was trying to convince her that this was what they both wanted, what they were both supposed to do?

"Fenris-"

But she was cut short by an arrow that pierced through Fenris' waist, the crude arrowhead coated with thick red, blood. They were both confused for a moment before the sound of another arrow snapped them to attention. Fenris shifted to the side just as another arrow sailed into their space, it shot passed where his shoulder would've been and made point in the grass at Hawke's feet. Fenris drew his broadsword and turned around. Hawke moved closer to him, fists raised, and saw six men in dark orange robes roving up the hillside.

"Who in the Void are they?" Hawke asked, not expecting an answer.

"That's a Blood Cult, mistress. People born without magic that kidnap mages and try to find ways of absorbing their abilities and wielding their powers. They are criminal scum most reviled in the Imperium," Fenris supplied. Hawke was surprised, she'd never heard of a Blood Cult before and they did sound despicable.

"This is private property, I suggest you leave at once!" Hawke ordered, Fenris bouncing slightly, ready to tear them apart.

"Well I **suggest** your knife-eared slut stand aside so we can have a good time with you, mage!" came a male voice. Not only did these people wear hoods, but they had bizarre masks on as well, all white with slanted eye-holes and runic markings on the forehead, chin, or cheeks. The mouths were little more than sort and straight red lines. "Don't you want to play with us?" Some of the other cloaked figures laughed.

"Sorry, but I don't think any of you boys could handle my version of fun," Hawke spouted confidently. A few of the men grumbled.

"Damn mage-borns! Think they're the Maker's gift! We'll show this bitch the meaning of true power!" he shouted, pulling a flask from the sleeve of his robe and guzzling the contents. She noticed the others following suit. A slight sting in the air around them informed her that at least part of the bottles' contents were lyrium. Once the flasks had been drained, Hawke smelled the foul odor of blood magic, but it seemed off.

Suddenly, the surrounding hilltop was crowded with Shades. Fenris howled and engaged them, slicing through them left and right. Hawke noticed a spirit bolt zooming toward her just in time to do a cart wheel toward her staff and escape the impact.

Staff in hand, she managed to slice one Shade fatally across the chest and use the lightning enchantment to blast another as it approached the horses. She zig-zagged across the grass and cut the horses reins, slapping their hinds so they would run and escape. Denarius' horse ran down the hill toward home, but Lilith had other ideas, rearing and crushing a Shade that got close to Hawke. Hawke spun and faced the cult; they were summoning abnormal fluxes of elemental and Fade magic to try and corral Fenris and herself to the edge of the cliff, but Hawke had a plan.

She ran passed as many Shades and Rage demons as possible and got as close to the cultists as she could. One managed to slip out of her sight before she could use her spell, but she'd get him later. Channeling as much mana as she could, she began preparing three spells. First, Hawke used Fist of the Maker, lifting and slamming the surrounding cultists to the ground. After a moments recovery, she used her force magic to draw them all toward her, and then quickly used a mind blast to stun them all. Most of her reserves were becoming unfocused, but she didn't need much magic to beat them now. The one to her immediate left got her temple bashed in from the blunt end of the staff then Hawke thrust it behind her and caught one in the gut with the bladed end. A few steps to her right and a quick flourish and she slit another one's throat. Two were left a few feet ahead of her. She blasted them with ice magic and used a couple of well-placed kicks to shatter them to pieces.

That was five, where was number six, their leader? Just as Hawke turned to face the direction she'd come from, a luscious Desire demon appeared before her.

"Lovely, and powerful girl you are. How hard you work to maintain your...composure. You deserve a reward." She sensuously trailed her fingers up her ribs and along her breast as she spoke.

"Begone, demon, I have no time for your tricks!" Hawke tried to step passed her but the demon floated around Hawke and cut her off.

"But I have time for you, Marian. I know what your heart and...body truly desire. And I'm here to serve you."

"Hm, if you really knew me you'd know that I hate demons and servile attitudes," Hawke countered. The demon laughed.

"Are you sure about that, Marian?" In a flash, an image Fenris appeared in Hawke's mind, of him writhing beneath her as she rode him, of those haunting green eyes full of yearning and want for more of her.

"Stop it, creature! In the Maker's name, you have no power over me..." Hawke stumbled backwards and the demon laughed again.

"And yet I remain! Does that mean there is no Maker? Or that he has forgotten you?" She glided behind Hawke to whisper in her her. "Or perhaps the Maker knows I can give you happiness and wants me to stay with you, to make your earthly dreams come true." Hawke's blood was boiling, she tried to blur the vision in her mind of a Fenris ravished by her own lust even as she could smell his skin and hear the panting of her name from his lips, could feel the heat of his hands on her body.

"T-to-to the Void with you!" Hawke stumbled forward and away from the demon. Hawke had once been told by her father that a demon was easier to escape if you could resist its offer three times. Hawke pulled a half-empty mana potion from her bag and gulped down the liquid, raising her staff high. The demon growled angrily and flew towards Hawke. Hawke queued the spell that she saved particularly for demons, Walking Bomb, and hurled it toward the beast.

It infected her quickly and as she coughed and gagged on the incurable poison, Hawke began running back up the hill. All the Shades and other demons were dead, Fenris (and perhaps Lilith) had taken them all on without her. So that still left the speaker for the group.

With a rumble and a roar, Hawke watched as the last man in the orange cloak ensconced himself in a putrid sanguine miasma that caused his body to transform. He looked a bit like an Abomination, but he had several thin, purple tentacles sprouting from his back, chest, and rib-cage. Her eyes caught sight of Fenris, who was breathing heavily and covered with demonic gore. He was...glowing a bright blue color. What kind of magic was this?

Hawke watched as Fenris lopped off a few of the tentacles, but this "man" was too crafty and quick. He used the tentacles like whips, lashing at Fenris' face, chest, and arms. He took another swipe and his sword was caught by the appendages. Fenris offered some strong kicks and punches, but the beast wrapped its tendrils around his ankles and lifted him up.

Hawke continued to move forward, hearing the desire demon explode somewhere behind her. She shot a few bolts of lightning, but they weren't strong enough. He tossed Fenris left and right like a rag-doll against the ground.

"STOP! I'm the one you want!" Hawke shrieked. The being turned its head and tossed Fenris away toward the cliff. Hawke swiveled her staff and missed the creature by inches as it used its strange magic to shift away from her. With quick thinking and a lot of concentration, Hawke cleansed the entire hilltop of mana.

The thing became partially exposed and Hawke lunged at it, staff like a javelin, and with a triumphant scream, pinned it the apple tree. It sputtered as its dark blood oozed from the gash and much of its warped flesh fell away in stinking chunks, revealing a pale and emaciated man underneath.

Hawke turned from him in disgust and sought out Fenris. He was hanging on to the edge of the cliff, but steadily slipping away.

"Fenris!" She ran for him and grabbed his arm with both hands just as he fell. "Oh! I got you, Fenris! Help me pull you up! I can't-" He groaned in pain, she could tell he was on the verge of unconsciousness. Hawke tensed every muscle in her body and pulled, but she wasn't strong enough to get him over the lip of the cliff. His sleeve started to tear. "Andraste, what should I-" She had to be quick, she only had one chance. She managed to channel some mana into her hands and tried to use two separate but controlled bursts of force magic to get him up and over the edge of the cliff.

Her pools were disjointed and partially drained, so what she got instead was a large boost of magic that pulled Fenris up at an angle toward her, causing him to slam into her face with enough force to send them both flying backward several feet. He landed on top of her, face to face in an almost symmetrical sprawl, and with little resistance, she surrendered to the sweet bliss of darkness.

* * *

So I hope you enjoyed! Lot's of self-reflection and a bit of action, I'd like to hear your thoughts, but your continued readership is appreciated!

I hope you are continuing to enjoy!

The plot is starting to take shape now! Prepare for cameos and OC very soon!

Thank-you!


	6. The Panic

Idolatry

The Panic

Rated **M**.

* * *

His mouth tasted like blood. His thoughts swayed and churned like a ship caught in a daylight storm.

What happened?

He remembered killing demons, being tossed about by a cultist.

Falling from the cliff.

His side hurt, his face hurt. He could tell some of his bones were fractured, but miraculously not broken.

Whatever he'd landed on, it was rather...soft. Thick, velvety grass with rocks far enough beneath not to break him?

It didn't smell like grass.

It was very warm.

He shifted his weight and felt dirt under his hands.

The softness moved.

Fenris opened his eyes, frightened at his darkened vision until he realized with shock that it was the inky blackness of Marian Hawke's hair.

He sat up quickly and was rewarded with a rush of hot pain throughout his extremities. He shook his head several times to clear the whiteness from his vision, leaning heavily on Hawke's body with one hand to keep steady.

She moved again, making a small whimper of discomfort as she did. Fenris focused on her, worried that she might be dying, and moved his hand from her chest, thinking that he might've been obstructing her breathing.

The sound of something hitting the ground nearby made Fenris turn and glow, ready for a fight.

He saw the cult leader pinned to the apple tree by Hawke's staff. A small spike of panic seized him, that she could finish off a man that he could not... Did that mean he wouldn't be able to save Denarius from her if she chose to attack? He had to ignore those things. He had to protect and serve Hawke as if she was Denarius, at least for now. He looked down at her again, considering his straddled position above her.

As he calmed himself and contemplated, it seemed bees were humming inside of him. Fenris hadn't ever been in a position like this before, above someone who was helpless. Something in him responded, but he didn't know what it was or why, so he quickly ignored it.

A glimmer of the setting sun reflecting light caught his eye and he sought out the source. Hawke's pack had opened slightly, and a healing potion was peaking out.

Fenris automatically reached for it, pulling off the stopper and pouring a small amount onto the bump on her forehead.

He then tilted her head back and poured some of the red liquid down her throat. It pooled in her mouth and he had to use his thumb to caress her neck and encourage her to swallow. Once she'd had the first mouthful, she was able to drink more of the potion on her own. After two thirds of the bottle had been drained, Hawke's eyes flickered opened. She pushed the bottle away from her mouth.

"F-Fenris?" She didn't know what to say, her head was pounding and she couldn't really be sure that they were out of danger, but his body on hers felt so good, so secure, that she was getting drunk form the proximity.

"Mistress?" His voice was a pleading croak. Hawke pulsed with adrenaline, he'd been hurt worse than she had. She sat up, pushing him with her, until they were hip to hip, belly to belly. She cautiously took the potion from his hand.

"Thank-you, Fenris." She smiled awkwardly, taking him in as objectively as she could. A trail of blood had dried from his hairline to his nose and the arrow was still sticking out of him. She cursed and poured some liquid on the clotted wound on his head. "Drink the last few mouthfuls, Fenris." She held the bottle up to him. He shook his head in confusion.

"Surly, you're the one who needs it, mistress."

"Fenris, you were injured more than I was."

"But I'm just-"

"Please, Fenris. Just drink it." There was that word again, a mixture of begging and commanding, with some kind of frustration Fenris had never heard before. He took the bottle from her, meeting her eyes just as she looked away. "I'm going to have to...remove this first." She put her hand on his side and he winced. "I'm sorry, Fenris, but I have to pull it out, otherwise it'll heal wrong." He simply nodded at her. As gently as she could, she broke the base off and pulled from the head until the entire thing was out. He sighed as she tossed the stick away and she placed her hands over the renewed flow of blood. "Drink it now." He did as she commanded, swallowing the last of it quickly. Hawke closed her eyes and focused her mana.

In her mind it was a bit like rolling dough, the large blob being pushed flat with controlled strength and shaped by her will. Her breathing grew heavy as healing magic surged through her and she managed to close the wound. She focused next on second sight, so she'd be able the sense any other injured areas. Luckily, the health potion had begun to start repairing the internal damage and Hawke only needed to use her magic to encourage that continued process.

Fenris watched her as she healed him with wonder. The healing felt like relaxing a muscle that had been tensed for hours, he'd never felt so...good. And her face as she concentrated was...intriguing to him. He didn't know how to describe it. He'd never experienced someone looking so, contented using magic. Hawke was in another place, a beautiful place, and she was there for _him_.

Fenris whimpered and several tears escaped him as even the pain in his back lessened.

Hawke groaned and opened her eyes. Her vision was hazy and she felt light-headed, but at least she knew Fenris would be alright.

"Mistress?" Fenris sounded scared and desperate. She shook her head and gazed up at him.

"How do you feel?"

"Strong." He turned away from her penetrating gaze, but those blues were burned into his mind, _seeing_ him.

"We need to get out of here." She put her hand on his shoulder and he backed away quickly, standing and pulling her up with him. Hawke wavered and he caught her before their bodies could connect. "Thank-you, Fenris." She said slowly, sleepily, with a small smile. Fenris bristled internally, hot with some sensation he didn't recognize.

"Stay here, mistress." Fenris left her to grab his sword and pull her staff from the tree. The corpse was wearing an amulet with an ornate crest. Fenris yanked it off to take back to his master. A shuffling sound got their attention and Fenris zoomed to Hawke's side, she turned to face the noise defiantly, even as her vision clouded.

Lilith came limping out of some nearby bushes, her left back leg tucked up against her.

Hawke gasped and stumbled toward her, grabbing the horse around the neck just in time to catch her fall.

"Oh you sweet and silly thing!" Hawke chided with tears in her eyes. "Why didn't you just run?" Lilith whinnied softly and Hawke rubbed the length of her nose.

"It seems you inspire great loyalty in the beast, mistress. That speaks highly of your character as a master," Fenris said as he approached. Hawke glanced over her shoulder at him, a confused smile gracing her face.

"I'd like to think of it more as a reflex of love rather than subservient devotion to me." Hawke moved to Lilith's side and knelt down, taking the injured leg in her hands as they glowed a pale green. Fenris watched attentively as she moved her hands up and down the appendage, seeing the wounds stitch together as Hawke's healing spell flickered with the draining of her reserves.

"Mistress?"

"Just a little more..."

"Mistress, you must-" He tensed when Hawke's nose began to bleed. Fenris moved up to her and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to break her concentration. She looked up at him in alarm, almost as if she didn't remember what was happening. She blinked and the moment passed. Quickly she wiped her nose and stood.

"Time to leave," said Hawke with a worried tone. She struggled, but managed to got on Lilith and held her hand out to Fenris. He gave her the staff and she locked it in the saddle's holster and held her arm out to him again. He stared at it and furrowed his brow. "Give me your hand, Fenris so I can help pull you up."

"Mistress, I can walk back." It was strange for her to ask this of him.

"It will be faster if we ride together." Why was he resisting?

"She is your horse." He was afraid to agree.

"We can share her." Fenris didn't understand her. His mind reeled away from her foreign disposition. But his body was drawn to the things she asked of him, even as he feared her very existence in his life and the life of his master. Ultimately, all he could do was obey, as that had been his master's wish. Fenris never thought obedience could be this...confusing.

He sheathed his sword and took her hand for balance as he moved to sit behind her. He sat stock still as their bodies were pressed tightly together and Fenris was afraid to move.

"Put your arms around me Fenris, around my waist." Hawke's voice was strained as Fenris slowly gripped her sides. Hawke snapped the reins and Lilith began to run, not as fast as she normally could, but without any lumbering in her steps.

Despite everything, Hawke was growing hot and bothered by Fenris' closeness to her body, how he held on to her, how the motion of Lilith running bounced them together. She sighed in frustration and squirmed a little, trying to find a more uncomfortable position. Hawke tried to lean forward, but that only pressed her bottom against his hips even more. She sat up and decided to use thinking to distract herself.

These...cultists. How were they able to steal magic from mages and give it to themselves? Was it anything like making a mage Tranquil? Was it another form of Blood Magic? More importantly, how had they gotten onto Denarius' property? And how were they able to tell she was a mage at such a distance?

Hawke felt a droplet on her hand and checked the sky for storm clouds. Nothing. She looked down at her hand.

A red droplet greeted her and as she opened her mouth in shock, another droplet fell to join it.

"Fenris..." Hawke felt very light-headed and dizzy, but there was no pain. Her grip on the reins felt weak and her head lolled forward before she pulled herself upright. "Fenris!" She tried to sound alert, but it was barely a whisper.

"Mistress, are you troubled?" He received no answer, instead he was forced to wrap his arms around her tightly to keep her limp body from falling off the horse. "Mistress?" Her head fell back onto his shoulder as he grabbed the reins to steady Lilith and he kicked her lightly to spur her on.

It would be at least forty minutes back to the estate no matter how fast they rode. He hoped they'd make it back in time to heal her.

He _hoped_.

* * *

The heat was humid and smothering in the best possible way. Hawke arched her back, pressing her bare breasts against him, the armor cool against her warm and slick flesh. She moaned softly, pleased with him as he lapped circles along her ear.

"Do you like this?"

"Yes..." she hissed pleasantly as she nibbled on his neck, tasting his olive skin. It was so unlike anything else she'd ever sampled, more than just another man's flesh. She giggled as he nipped her shoulder.

"Tell me what you want me to do." He pulled away to look at her and Hawke placed her hands on his shoulders, intent on pushing his face down between her legs when she recognized him, taking the sensuous aura off of the situation and metaphorically dousing her with ice water. Fenris' face greeted her, looking humble and broken, his arms held back by chains. "I'll do all that you command, mistress." There was a soft smile there, giving her permission to use him, as if he knew she would never cause him pain, and that was reason enough to please her.

"N-no, Fenris...Not like this!" Hawke tried to sit up, but her own arms were instantly tied with elaborate silk scarves, trailing toward statues over graves, graves of the people she'd killed. "Oh, no!" Hawke's voice caught in her throat as she struggled and Fenris continued to kiss her body. Suddenly, there was a bright red light behind his head like a halo. He paused, giving her a peaceful look before the the light radiated toward him and consumed them both in blindingly hot fingers of madness and rage.

And then there was only darkness and coolness, and a sense of being alone. Heaviness was all around her and her own pants echoed off of invisible walls until that noise drowned out the shadows and suddenly there was light and air where there hadn't been any before.

Hawke started awake, a thick blanket on her body and a cold compress on her head. Hawke's brain felt like it was full of cotton, its spongy scratchiness swelling it to the point where her thoughts trickled to a halt. She tried to move and a flash of pain shot up her arm.

"Great flames! What is that?" she croaked as a figure from the other side of the room came to answer her.

"It's called a drip, Marian. I took an elfroot draught laced with a hint of lyrium and am feeding it directly into your bloodstream. After giving you a large dose of magical healing of course." It was Denarius. He used his magic to make the compress cool again. "You sustained quite the head injury." He seemed disapproving of her ability to be hurt and she pursed her lips.

"It wasn't so bad," Hawke practically grumbled. Denarius smirked.

"No, but when your father was performing the healing spell, he mentioned that you had sustained a rather traumatic concussion several years ago and had not had a timely dose of healing." He seemed a bit more sympathetic, but it felt forced to Hawke, so she simply nodded, a bit irate at her father's loose lips. "And your mana reserves had been beyond drained, you know what happens to mages who use magic without focused mana pools?" His tone was sardonic and trivialized the matter, but Hawke nodded anyway.

"They dip into their own life-force to sustain their powers." She felt like she was in school, being chided for forgetting her homework or being late to class.

"Very good, Marian. 100%." He moved away from her, his prideful tone making her scowl at his back.

"Where am I?"

"In my personal study, it had everything I needed to help you. Your father and I are a quick and harmonious team, Marian. You could've been seriously hurt."

"Is Fenris okay?" she asked suddenly, almost breathless with concern. "And what about my horse?" Her voice was a little stronger, a little more demanding, but only just. She sat up as he turned and handed her a glass chalice with a chaste amount of brandy inside.

"Fenris is here, or rather, there." Denarius pointed to the far corner of the room. Hawke casually glanced over to him, her eyes sharp as daggers. Fenris sat attentively on his knees by the door, eyes focused hard on the ground. "Lilith is fine. Your family has just retired for the evening. It's rather late, " he said kindly, taking a long drag of his own brandy. "How do you feel?"

"I'm..." Hawke hesitated, really thinking about the answer. Her head still felt stuffed and her body ached slightly, but otherwise she felt okay...physically. In her heart, she felt indignant and worried. That dream she'd had was far too bizarre to have just been cooked up by her own subconscious. "I'm pissed off." She admitted with a huff of dry laughter. "How did those fools find us?"

"I am sorry you had to deal with such scum, my dear. Some people will go to great lengths to obtain power." He poured himself more of the dark liquid and Hawke huffed again.

"I am well aware." She swallowed the mouthful of brandy and it burned sweetly down her throat. She sighed at how pleasant the taste was. "Good year," she commented casually and held her glass aloft for a refill. He quirked his brow at her boldness, but said nothing. "How does the Imperium deal with people like that?" He handed her the glass with double the amount of brandy as before and swallowed a mouthful of his own before answering.

"The Chantry sanctions specially trained guards. The program is funded by Magisters. These are viewed as crimes of prejudice and hatred, frowned upon by all civilized men." Denarius took another gulp. Hawke drained her glass and handed it back to him. "Another? You should be careful, little bird. This may numb the pain now, but you'll feel worse by morning." His cat-like grin came off as challenging to Hawke, but whether he was challenging her to obey or disobey, she wasn't sure. She was so tired of these games. It occurred to her in that instant the most relaxed she'd been, the most she had allowed herself to just be, _herself_, whoever that was anymore, was in the company of Fenris by the apple tree. She sniffed and shook her head at Denarius.

"I've reached my limit, I was simply returning the glass to your care." Hawke stretched slightly and eased back down on the chaise, reclining but still erect enough to speak. She needed more from him. Not necessarily words, but mannerisms and ticks of body language. She wanted to figure him out, it was the only way to survive him. "Have you had to personally deal with these cultists before?" she asked as nonchalantly as possible, tracing a pattern on her blanket as she spoke.

"On occasion. Or rather, my bodyguard has. But they are not as much a threat as one might assume." He sat in the armchair near the fire, facing her. "And how was the trek with our stony elf, hm? He caused you no trouble, I hope?" Denarius grinned over steepled fingers that cradled his drink like a treasure. Hawke shrugged her shoulders, glancing at the needle and tube sticking out of her arm.

"The trip was satisfactory, and he is amicable company." She looked up at Denarius, he was leering smugly, pride oozing from him in such thick waves it nearly toppled Hawke over. "He's special yes? Not an ordinary slave?" Denarius laughed richly, setting his glass aside and focusing on her.

"He is very special to me, dear girl. He is a superior warrior and possesses a beauty not common among men, with a strength and grace that cannot be learned."

"Is that really how you see him?" Hawke tried to sound alertly curious, but her voice held a hint of incredulity that she hoped he'd mistranslate. Denarius settled more deeply in his comfy chair and cast a sidelong glance at the elf in question.

"It is...what I want others to see in him." He refocused on Hawke, eyes glinting. "And I want them to feel the fear he radiates. He broods over everything and makes those with good intentions feel reassured and those with ill twitch with unease. He is perfect for the purpose he serves."

"The purpose you've chosen for him?"

"In the role he was born to play." Denarius seemed a tad defensive, or Hawke was reading too much into it, she was minutely drunk. "Let me ask you something, my dear. How did you come by those markings on your face?" Absently, Hawke grazed her fingers against her right cheek.

"It was..." She stopped, not sure how to continue, what to omit or reveal. Not because there was anything in that experience that he could use against her, just that some of the subject matter was...delicate.

"If it makes you uncomfortable-"

"No, not at all, it's just..." she sighed "...it was Templars." Hawke shrugged. "It was a few months before we fled Lothering. We'd been living in Redcliffe for nearly a year. We'd been friendly, even went to Chantry every week. My parents worked for the Arl and he seemed to like them.

"One night, I went out hunting. There had been some wolf attacks and I'd taken the job from the Chanter's board to clear them out. I went after dark because I thought nobody else would be around. I was wrong." Denarius sat patiently, invested in her words as he sipped his brandy. Fenris was alert as well, listening intently, eyes raised in her direction, though no one noticed. "I managed to kill the beasts without magic, but I'd taken a rather serious bite on the leg. Since I was still partially in their den, I thought it would be safe to heal myself." Hawke shifted in her seat, getting more comfortable, trying to trick Denarius into thinking she was vulnerable and relaxed.

"A group of Templars just so happened to have been returning from a mission that night and saw the light coming from the cave. They investigated and found me. They were not happy I was an apostate, but they did seem excited when they found out I was a girl."

"Did they violate you?" Denarius' voice was gruff and his brows were furrowed, he seemed disturbed by the thought, but the fact that he would even be brazen enough to ask her such a thing told her he was falling for her act. She scrunched her face slightly.

"Not...traditionally." Hawke rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, luring him in to a false sense of closeness with her. "There are a few things I don't remember." She put her hand to the compress. "They hit me in the head. And forced me to perform magic for them, simple things, but they had cut me a few dozen times with their enchanted daggers, so I wasn't able to do much. They made me light a fire, they pushed me around. I managed to knock one out with a punch to the nose and I broke the finger of another with a kick but...the blow to the head, and the disruption of my mana, it made it...difficult to fight back." She turned her face away, Denarius leaned forward slightly, Hawke could still see him in her peripherals. "They used the pommels of their swords to...degrade me. I wasn't worthy of their flesh!" Hawke's tone was scathing. Yes, this event still angered her greatly, but she'd moved passed the trauma for the most part, mostly she was snaring Denarius, his reactions would tell her a lot about his character. Yes, she was putting herself in a weaker position, but you had to spend sovereigns to make sovereigns. Besides, if he thought she was weak, she could more easily overpower him later, if it came to that.

"How awful. Ferelden is home to such cowardly and depraved dogs." Denarius offered her another drink, but Hawke declined, watching him closely as he poured yet another glass for himself.

His body language was rigid, but he had a layer of sweat on his upper lip, and his repeated blinking and swallowing before his mouthful of liquor told Hawke he was nervous, most like due to arousal. It made her sick, but she was hardly surprised at this point.

"When they were done, the Knight-Captain took off his amulet. It was a combination of the Chantry sigil and his own family crest. He held it over the fire and...burned it into the side of my face, to forever mark me as a mage." Hawke gritted her teeth, this part of the story still got to her. Most of the burn had healed and her eye had been spared, but now she was conspicuous, and that was often dangerous. She sniffled once and looked at Denarius, daring him to mock her. He stared back at her, brow raised but said nothing. She relaxed her face like an apology, hoping Denarius would fall for her act. "I'm sorry," she said as she turned away again.

"I see now why you came to Tevinter. It must be a relief to be a free woman." Denarius stood and Hawke forced herself not to flinch as he removed the compress and used his magic to check her vitals. "I think you're going to be fine, after a good nights rest." He smirked and walked away, toward the door.

"Master Denarius!" Hawke called out as he reached the door. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Their all dead now." It was a lie, but she'd killed other Templars, so her conscience was clean. She needed to save face, since that's what he'd expect, it would restore his opinion of her, whatever it was.

"I do not doubt that. Fenris can escort you to your bedchamber, you'll sleep better in your own room." Denarius looked to Fenris. "And come to me straight after."

"Yes, master," he whispered. Denarius left the room, closing the door behind him. There was silence aside from the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the grandfather clock. Hawke wasn't sure what Fenris would think of her story, if he thought anything about it. Her eyes wandered to him and she saw him bow his head. "Mistress." Hawke closed her eyes and prayed for the strength to ignore her desires for him like she had so many others. She focused on directing her mana flow, charging it and aligning it properly. It was easy and it felt strong. She pulled the needle out of her arm and healed the wound. Hawke sighed, eyeing the brandy.

"Fenris, how are you?" She stood, testing her strength. It felt like she hit her head on something, but nothing was there, otherwise she was steady.

"Mistress?"

"Are your injuries taken care of?" Hawke poured herself a glass.

"I am healed, mistress. Master Abriel tended to me." Hawke took a long swig, savoring it. So Abriel was a healer too? And Denarius had said her father had used the healing magic on her. Interesting. This probably meant Hadriana knew a bit of healing magic as well, to use on Denarius, but Fenris wouldn't be worth a top apprentice.

"That's good." Hawke turned and faced him. "Thank-you, by the way. You got me here in one piece." She finished her nightcap and moved toward him.

"I live to serve, mistress." Fenris bent even deeper toward the floor.

"Stand-up, please," she said quietly. He obeyed, but kept his head down. There was that word again, more the tone, actually. Why did she do that? What was her intention? "I guess you can take me to my room now."

"Yes, of course, mistress." Fenris opened the door and followed her out.

He walked closely behind her, making sure he'd be able to catch her if she stumbled. Her story was running through his mind. Fenris had never known that a mage could be so vulnerable, could be hurt by someone without magic.

There was a pang in him when Hawke had described her face getting burned. He looked down at his arms.

They were both marked.

Once they reached the door, Hawke turned and said good-night.

"Does it hurt, mistress?" Fenris asked suddenly, aware of the fact that she might reprimand him for speaking out of turn.

"Does what hurt, Fenris?" She didn't seem angry or defensive, that meant Fenris didn't have to apologize.

"Your face." He glanced at her cheek. His expression was so earnest and fearful in made Hawke hurt inside. Why would he care? What did it mean if he did? Perhaps he wasn't as unreachable as she'd originally thought.

"No, not anymore. The burn marks have no sensation whatsoever," she replied. The skin around the marks was more sensitive, however. Hawke noticed Fenris' eyes flicker toward his strange tattoos and she eyed them as well.

"That is...good, mistress, that you feel no pain." He bowed stiffly. "If there is nothing else?" Hawke could think of a thousand things.

She didn't want hm to go, she was afraid of what would happen when Fenris went to Denarius' room, but there was nothing she could do to keep him, nothing ethical anyway.

"Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning." Hawke felt terrible, she almost cried. He bowed again and swept away from her. She watched after him until he was out of her sight and walked through her door, feeling more helpless then she had in a very long time. But in that helplessness, Hawke was determined to save every slave Denarius owned, and every other slave in Tevinter, even if it took a hundred years. They couldn't go on like this, _she_ couldn't...

Hawke entered her room and froze, she wasn't alone.

"It's about time you got up here!" Carver growled, standing up from the edge of the bed.

"Maker's breath, Carver, you scared me!"

"Are you alright?" His hands were on his hips and he was practically pouting.

"I'm...better. What are you doing up here? Have you been here the whole time? Denarius said you all went to bed."

"I couldn't sleep after what that elf said had happened to you! You've got to be more careful, sister! How could you be caught off-guard so?" Carver was pacing as he spoke. Hawke smiled. Carver hadn't chewed her out like this in a very long time. It was nice.

"I wasn't caught so terribly off-guard, I did survive the ordeal, after all." She crossed her arms over her chest. " We did manage to kill all the cultists and their demons, so I'd call a bump on the head a victory."

"This is no time to joke! They hunt mages, sister! Just like the Templars back in Ferelden! I thought here you'd all be safe." Carver shook his head as if having a mental conversation with himself.

"Denarius gave me the impression that this wasn't a serious problem, that the Templars were taking care of it."

"I bloody well hope so." He did a double take. "What are you smirking about? You think this is funny?" Carver stomped over to Hawke and stopped an inch from her face, glaring.

"I miss this, Carver." He narrowed his eyes. She chuckled. "Not the danger and the near-death experiences, but this...concern. You berating me, worried sick over the family." His face softened slightly. "I didn't know you still cared." Hawke lowered her guard as much as she could, to let Carver know she was being sincere. "We haven't really...we've all sort of, drifted apart over the last few years." She put her hand on his shoulder and he looked away in stern embarrassment but didn't move from her touch. "I've missed you, brother."

"And...I you, sister." He pulled Hawke into a gruff hug that was little more then a squeeze and release. "Just be more careful. You and Bethany shouldn't go anywhere alone from now on. And stop skipping lessons with father." Carver moved away from her, toward the door, not making eye contact.

"Carver," she called out to him. He turned and met her gaze, jaw clenched as if fighting back an emotional display. "Thank-you." He nodded and left the room, closing the door a bit too loudly behind him.

* * *

Part one of The Panic. Not a lot of action here, but I wanted to give a little Comic-Con day present to you all!

(Sorry to any fans of God save the Queen, my muse went on vacation and spent her cell-phone bill money on liquor... But I'm expecting her home any day now!)

Thanks for the faves and alerts! Special thanks to my reviewers! Enchanter T.I.M, Aya001, Dark Sister of the Brotherhood, as they are my best critics! They go deep and it really inspires me! Special shout-out to CanadianDarkFox and "Guest" for their appreciated cameos! XD

See you soon!


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